


Better Off As Lovers

by SecretStudentDragonBlog



Series: Better Off As Lovers World [1]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternative bandmembers, F/M, Friends to Lovers, New Years, Phone Sex, Post-Mania Era, Save Rock and Roll Era, Secret Relationships, Valentine's Day, bossy!trick, sex sex and more sex - all the sex, smut!trick, winter beard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-10-30 09:59:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 46,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17826560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecretStudentDragonBlog/pseuds/SecretStudentDragonBlog
Summary: Robyn and Patrick have circled one another in and out of their band since meeting at 16. Now, with Fall Out Boy's hiatus just ended and Save Rock and Roll era just beginning, a bored Patrick texts Robyn to keep him occupied while in a meeting with record company execs - and things get just a little bit out of hand.





	1. Summer Kissed Chlorine Skin

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, it's another 'what if there was a girl in FOB?' fic. I started writing this soon after I got into the band, before I really got into reading fanfic - I didn't know this was a common thing and I'm not even slightly sorry! I loved writing it, but the first chapter stuttered to a standstill and I left it abandoned for almost a year until I was asked if I 'knew of any 'Patrick with a female character smut' and I shamelessly recommended by own - meaning I had to finish the first chapter. Which led to another chapter. And another. And so on.
> 
> This would never have been anything other than a private little thing I kept to myself if it hadn't been for my Smut Coven on Tumblr, so it's going out to them. They know who they are - they've been reading this since the beginning and have pom-pom'd and cheered me (and threatened me with violence) throughout. Love you, fellow witches.

Patrick is in a meeting with the record company. Pete is also there, listening carefully, making notes, sharing ideas – totally engaged. Patrick doesn’t know why he’s there himself. Scratch that, that’s not true. He’s there because Pete said there should always be two band members there ‘to represent’ – Pete sometimes forgets he’s not Eminem - and Patrick has drawn the short straw this time. ‘Drawing the short straw’ means Pete _chose_ Patrick to accompany him and Patrick knows it’s easier to just say ‘yes’ immediately to Pete than to be subjected to a barrage of texts until he eventually says ‘yes’ anyway.

But Patrick is bored. Business stuff is boring, even when you’re a grown-ass adult man of 28. And it’s so hot! There are a lot of people in the room, sitting around a big table, and they’re on, like, the 400th floor, or something, so there are no openable windows and the air-con is freaking _broken_. Of course it is. Because it’s July. In LA. Patrick has even taken off his cardigan. _That’s_ how hot it is.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, thinking about maybe playing a game, maybe checking his emails, maybe Googling the best way to smash his way through an unsmashable window to get some freaking air into the room – if he throws his chair, would that work? How about if he threw _Pete_? He’s been thinking murderous thoughts about Pete since he felt the first trickle of sweat run down into his collar from his hairline over half an hour ago. Throwing Pete through the window would achieve the double-whammy of getting some air into the stifling room – hopefully – and murdering Pete – definitely. He sighs, putting his plans to the back of his mind. Probably not the greatest idea, killing his best friend, even if Pete is the one responsible for Patrick currently feeling like he’s inside an erupting volcano.

His lock screen is a photo of the band, a recent one, taken on Robyn’s phone, all of them holding up their hands to make peace signs – apart from Joe, who is giving the middle finger. Because he’s Joe. Patrick smiles at the picture. They’re all smooshed together, bodies squashed up against one another, stupid smiles on their stupid faces, looking deliriously happy. Understandable, Patrick thinks. Hiatus was good for them all, exactly what they needed – a break, breathing space, growing up time, kind of – but being back together is beyond amazing. Musically, they’re on fire, personally, the bonds between them all have never been stronger. It’s fucking _awesome_ being back with his band. It just means all this wrangling with the record company. Ironing out the creases, dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s.

Looking at the photo decides his course of action. He’ll text Robyn. She’s always down for nonsense texting and he doubts very much that she’s doing anything strenuous during a heatwave. He checks the time. Almost noon. She won’t be in the gym right now – that would have been first thing, sometime in the am, when normal, non-sociopathic people – people like Patrick – were still sleeping. So, she should be free to keep him occupied with inane and silly chit-chat for awhile.

“Bored dot com.” He sends. “What’re you doing?”

He grins when the reply-bubble, indicating she is typing, appears almost immediately. Yeah, she’s not busy. Cool.

“Chilling by the pool, my dude.” She sends. “You still in the meeting?”

“Yeah. It’s grim. No air-con. I’m cooking from the inside out.”

“Sucks to be you” comes back. “I got this going on.”

And a photo follows, a selfie of Robyn, indeed chilling by her pool, sunglasses on, a cold drink in her hand, grinning down the lens at Patrick, who _hates_ her right now. Her shoulders are bare. He worries, naturally.

“Are you topless?”. He asks and is halfway through typing a message about sunscreen and the importance of protecting her skin, when her reply brings his thumbs stuttering to a complete standstill.

“Nope. Totally naked. Want the proof?” And a wink. A fucking _wink_? What the hell is this? He wonders if he has heatstroke. Or he’s having a heat-induced trip-out where Robyn, one of his best friends since high school, is sending him flirty texts.

He backspaces his sunscreen message and sends “uhhhh?!?” instead, hoping that conveys his confusion.

Patrick had the biggest, most ridiculous crush on Robyn for a good 18 months when they first met. He never acted on it, never told her. Pete knew because he has always been able to read Patrick like a book, but he was chill about it the whole time, for which Patrick has always been eternally grateful. As far as Patrick is aware, Robyn has never known about his crush. And it was more than a decade ago. Since then they’ve both been through partners, breakups, a marriage in Robyn’s case. And Patrick is long over his Robyn thing. So why, then, is what is most likely a stupid, faux-flirty text, making his dick twitch under the table? His phone vibrates in his hand.

“Sorry, dude, I’m just yanking your chain. I totally have something on. Just strapless. I know what you’re thinking about. Stop worrying about me getting sunburn. I’m wearing more SPF50 than you could shake a stick at AND I’m mostly in the shade. I shouldn’t have offered a nude pic. You’re not Pete and I forgot that flirty stuff freaks you out. I’ll stop messing with you now.”

Patrick, his thumbs being controlled by his groin, apparently, sends back before he can stop himself.

“Don’t.” He stares at the screen, unable to believe what his thumbs have just done. He knows he’s mildly freaking out when he decides to have strong words with his thumbs later.

“Hey, I said sorry. I promise I’ll leave you alone.” Robyn sends.

And that should be the end of it. He can move onto safe topics of conversation now. They can just chat like they always do. Except.

“Maybe...don’t?” His thumbs take over again. He _glares_ at them.

There is a long pause this time. He imagines Robyn staring at her screen, trying to formulate a polite way of giving him the brush off, the jokey reply she wants to send without hurting Patrick’s feelings. What she sends is one word.

“Patrick..?”

And this, again, could be the cut-off point, _should_ be the cut-off point, where he tells her he meant ‘don't stop talking to me’. But instead, he goes for broke, his heart hammering in his chest, wondering if he’s about to implode the band before the reunion is even off the ground. He can always laugh it off as his lame attempt at flirting, if it all goes wrong, right? _Right?!?_

“I like the thought of you yanking my chain.” He sends, then groans inwardly. That was tragic and awful. And tragic some more. He blames his thumbs.

Another pause. She’s definitely going to cut him dead now.

But.

“Oh yeah? Am I sufficiently distracting you from your boring meeting now? Cause I like that idea.”

Patrick tugs at the collar of his t-shirt, wondering how far Robyn is willing to take this. Then he gets his answer. His eyes feel like they’re popping out of his head at the next message.

“You like?” and a picture. A half-naked, back-arched-up-into-the-camera, hand-cupping-a-very-bare-boob, thumb-and-forefinger-pinching-a-hard-nipple-between-them, biting-her-bottom-lip Robyn is on his screen in front of him. His dick stops twitching and hardens, draining all the blood from his body into it, and pressing painfully against the front of his jeans. _Fuck._ The phone falls from Patrick’s suddenly floppy and boneless hand – the very opposite of his dick, in actual fact – and clatters onto the table in front of him.

Everyone turns to look at him, Pete frowning and giving his head a little shake. _What the hell, man?_ Patrick grabs the phone, glad it landed screen face-down so no one else has seen the picture, and puts it in his lap out of sight. He can feel his cheeks burning. He apologises and they all turn away from him once more. He looks at the screen again, still astounded at what he’s seeing.

Another picture follows, another caption. Patrick wills himself to _stay in his fucking chair and not pop up like a fucking jack-in-the-box_.

“Also...” her stomach, navel piercing – which he didn’t even know she had – glinting in the sun, the button on her denim shorts popped open, the zipper pulled down, her fingertips teasingly placed in the open material.

Patrick’s mouth is completely dry. He reaches across the table for his water glass with a shaking hand, hoping to God no one is looking his way. They’re not. He’s just there to make up the numbers. No one is expecting anything from him. Which should really be insulting but he has bigger things to think about right now, one of them being his boner, the other on the screen in front of him.

He stares at the second picture, then realises Robyn will be expecting something back from him. He thinks for a moment, trying to come up with the right combination of words, but his brain is mush. His groin takes the wheel.

“Take those off too.” He means her shorts. He hopes she gets that. Short and sweet is about all he can manage.

She gets it.

“You want me naked?”

_Fuck. Fuck!_

“Yes.” He wonders if she’s taking off her shorts. “And take a dip. In the pool. I want you naked and wet.” Where is this coming from? He’s never done this with anyone in his life. And now he’s issuing commands?

“I’m already wet.” Comes back. Holy _shit._  “And you’re bossy. I forgot you could be bossy. Shorts coming off...”

Another picture. The shorts, on the lounger beside the pool, her shadow cast over them. Her _naked_ silhouette _._

“You want me in the water?”

“Yeah. 10 seconds. No longer.” Shit, he _is_ bossy.

“On it.”

Patrick looks down at his crotch, shifts uncomfortably in his chair, and fires back.

“I wish you were on it. It’s aching for you right now.”

He waits, imagining her diving into the pool, gloriously naked, going under and gliding from one end to the other, before kicking herself off and over and coming back to where she started, climbing out, pushing her wet hair out of her face, standing dripping onto the ground beside the pool-

“Wet enough for you?” Yet another picture. It’s a weird angle, her phone somehow held out behind her, but it shows him that, yes, she is _completely_ naked, and, yes, she is dripping wet from the pool, water running down her body, the ends of her hair, also wet, hanging halfway down her back.

“Fuck yes.” Patrick sends. He’s at a loss now. He has her sending him naked pictures of herself, calling him bossy but doing exactly as he tells her, driving him crazy with _want_ and _need_ , but he’s here and she’s there and he doesn’t see how they can possibly do anything else. And she may not want to anyway. Maybe she just wants to play for a little while. Although, really, this is way beyond ‘play’.

“Go to the bathroom.” She tells him.

“Who’s bossy now?”. He bites back a grin.

“Just do it. Find a unisex cubicle and lock the door. Tell me when you’re there.”

He does. No one notices him leave, apart from Pete, who has a built-in ‘Patrick radar’ that lets him know if Patrick is leaving the Pete-zone. He glances across at Patrick, who nods towards the door, hoping Pete doesn’t notice the bulge in his jeans. Pete waves a hand, already turning back to the meeting. Patrick escapes.

He finds a unisex bathroom and locks himself in, then texts Robyn.

“Ok, I’m here. Now what?”

He leans against the sink while he waits to hear back from her. He’s staring at his phone, willing it to beep at him, when it _rings_. He almost drops it again, in his shock. Robyn’s face and name are on the screen, with the options of answering or ignoring. He answers. Obviously.

“Hi.” Her voice is breathy, he can hear the same want and need in her.

“Hey.” He replies. “So, this is insane, right?” He laughs nervously, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck.

“Good insane or bad insane?” She asks.

“The best kind of insane. I feel like I’m on drugs, seeing those pictures, but-“

“No ‘buts’, Patrick. Did you like them?”

“What do you think? You have to ask?”

“Are you hard right now?”

Patrick palms himself through his jeans. Hard doesn’t begin to cover it. He’s like a rock, solid, he could shatter diamonds with it.

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” He tells her.

“Oh, I can imagine. _Patrick_.” She sighs his name. His knees wobble. “Undo your jeans for me.”

“Umm, public bathroom?” He replies.

‘Is the door locked?”

“Well, yeah, but-“

“So, undo them. C’mon Patrick. I’m totally naked here and I’ve sent you some seriously intimate pictures. I’ve never done that for _anyone_. That’s how much I trust you. Please?”

“Ok, ok.” He’s reaching for his fly when she stops him.

“Wait! What are they?”

“What?” Patrick is seriously confused now.

“Your jeans. Buttons or zipper?”

“Oh, buttons.” Why does _that_ matter?

“Awesome.” Robyn almost purrs the word. Her voice is turning his insides to jelly. “Ok. Undo them, but do it slowly. And tell me as you do it.”

“Popping the first one now.” He tells her, doing just that, it relieves a little of the pressure on his cock, but only a little.

“How many are there?”

“Umm, three?” He’s not sure. He’s not in the habit of counting the buttons on his jeans. “Maybe four? Second one.” More relief and he realises his shorts are stuck to the head, pre-cum leaking through the material. So he tells her this. She sighs again, louder this time. “Your voice is driving me fucking crazy, you know.” He adds. “Third one. And that’s it. Three. All undone.” He waits on her.

“Mmmhmm.” She breathes. “Ok, so, like, get it out. And don’t say ‘public bathroom’.”

He wasn’t actually going to object this time. He’s way past that now. Getting it out is the next logical step, regardless of where he is. He pushes his jeans and shorts down slightly and frees himself, wrapping his hand around his length and stroking it slowly. It’s agony of the very best kind. His head tips back, his eyes close and he bites his bottom lip, groaning into the phone.

“Is it big?” She asks, sounding even more breathless. “Tell me what it’s like.”

“It’s fucking _huge_.” He chokes out. “It’s aching and throbbing and very, very fucking hard for you, Robyn. And I genuinely wish you were here right now so you could rub it instead of me.”

“Yeah? Does it feel good? Tell me how good it feels, Patrick.”

“It feels _amazing. Awesome._ So great I feel like I’m gonna explode.” Huh. _Soul Punk_ throwback.

“Oh, _Soul Punk_ much?” Robyn murmurs, echoing his thoughts.

“What are you doing?” Patrick asks, taking it right back to his original question, the one that started this craziness.

“Oh, you know, just lying on the lounger, all damp and naked and smelling like chlorine, my hand between my legs, my fingers working, listening to a really fucking hot guy getting himself off over the phone.”

Patrick is ridiculously pleased at being called ‘really fucking hot’ but more importantly, Robyn is _touching_ herself, and _he’s_ touching himself, and, yeah, they’re doing it over the phone. He’s having phone sex. With one of his best friends. Insane, alright.

“Send me a picture of it.” Robyn says. And Patrick hesitates at this. Robyn picks this up – even doing what they’re doing she can still sense his emotions over the phone. “Patrick. _Seriously_. I need to see it.”

“Ok, just bear with me.” He pulls the phone away from his ear and tries to figure out how to take a picture without ending the call. He doesn’t know how to do that, so he puts the phone back to his ear. “I’ve gotta hang up to take a picture.” He apologises. “I’m not running away, I swear. I’ll take it and send it and call you straight back.”

“Make it a good one.” She says before _she_ ends the call.

Patrick looks at the phone in one hand, his dick in the other, then opens the camera app and angles the phone. He keeps his hand wrapped around it as he takes the picture and forces himself to just send the fucking thing and not agonise over it. He waits for a few seconds before calling, giving Robyn time to receive and view the picture. Those few seconds feel like an eternity. He _needs_ to hear her voice again. How has he reached this point in such a short time? She picks up straight away.

“Patrick, you weren’t lying to me. You _are_ huge. The things I could do with that. The fun I could have.” There is a pause and a shuffling at the other end of the line, then Robyn’s voice sounds slightly echoey and a bit further away. “Sorry, hot stuff, had to put you on speakerphone so I can look at that picture while we talk. It’s too good for just a quick look.”

 _Hot stuff._ This is fantastic. He doesn’t think she means it – it’s just sex talk – but he’ll take it anyway. And she wants to look at the picture even more. Patrick has an idea. It’s risky – more so than jerking himself off in the bathroom at his record company – but what the hell. _In for a penny_. He doesn’t tell Robyn what he’s doing, just disconnects the call again and calls her back using FaceTime. She answers and he hears her laugh delightedly at the angle of his phone, pointed straight at his hand working his cock, his thumb rubbing over the head of it, smearing his pre-cum around.

“Is this ok?” He asks. “Thought you might like a live show.”

“It’s fucking _perfect_ , Patrick. I have to say I’m blown away by you today. You’re, like, not only super-receptive to me kick-starting this whole thing out of nowhere on you, but now you’re going above and beyond. Oh, and I _really_ like the bossy too. I mean _really_.”

Yeah, Robyn has done the solo thing but Patrick has done the solo thing too. And he was _completely_ solo, writing, producing, playing all the instruments. It had all been totally on his terms. So even though Robyn had done _more_ of the solo stuff – two albums and three tours – Patrick was the King of Bossy. He was a bossy little fuck even before the hiatus and was now having to reign it all in with a new producer. But if Robyn likes it, well.

Now he looks at her through the screen. He’s seeing her ‘live’ too, something he’s done many, many times over the years, but she’d always had clothes on before. Now? Now she’s totally, completely, 100% naked. He’s looking at her face, which is super-concentrated – oh, yeah, she’s watching _him_ jerk off – but he wants to see everything. And today, right now, even if it’s just this brief, crazy, little bubble of heat, she’s _his_. So, he gets his bossy on.

“Hey? Turn your phone, ok? Show me what you’re doing.”

“Soooo bossy...” her voice is whisper-soft as the camera moves away from her face and down her body. She does it slowly, teasingly and Patrick is incredibly thankful for this because it gives him the time to appreciate every inch of her as it appears in front of him. She’s tanned _everywhere_ – a tiny part of his brain, the sensible, caring, anxious part, files a mental note to discuss her sun safety with her, properly, _later_ – and she’s all curves and smooth skin.

When they first met she’d been kinda skinny – the female equivalent of Joe, in actual fact, gangly, with long limbs and sharp elbows – and usually carrying scrapes, bumps and bruises, gathered from skateboarding mishaps and, later, on-stage and gear-carrying mishaps. Robyn was always very much a mishap kind of person. But she’d been 16 when they met, still a kid and still growing. Somewhere along the way – and Patrick wasn’t sure if it was during the band time or during her solo time – she’d rounded out a little, put on some weight, in all the right places. And she still had a few ‘boards and she still used them from time to time, although she was much more likely to drive places now, but she was less of a speed-freak these days. And she wasn’t dodging the Trohmaniac and his weapon of a guitar anymore on stage, or having to hump amps and instruments around. So, the scrapes, bumps and bruises were fewer, although she was still known as the clumsy one in the band, managing to trip over thin air on occasion, and he spots at least one fading bruise near her elbow and one fresh, white scar-line midway down her calf.

She moves the phone across her collarbone and shoulders, and Patrick wants to bite her there, down, lingering on the swell of her breasts and her still-hard nipples, which Patrick definitely harbours fantasies of using his tongue on, across her stomach, which isn’t washboard flat, despite all her gym-work, and Patrick loves the tiny bit of tummy she has. She deliberately swerves around where her other hand is clearly placed, drawing an amused “hey!” from Patrick, making her laugh in return, and skims the lens across one of her hips, where Patrick imagines leaving marks from his teeth, down her thighs, which are just fucking perfection, and shows him her legs as she lifts them into the air, pointing her toes towards the sky. Her legs are long – before hiatus, Joe was forever grumbling about her stealing his jeans, as they were a perfect fit on her, until Pete had a range made up, based on her measurements, for his Clandestine line – and now she rubs the toes of one foot behind the calf of the other leg. Then she brings the phone back to her face.

Patrick cries out again, half in protest at being denied the ultimate goal of _her hand between her thighs_ and half in a burst of lust at the _look_ on her face. Her eyes are closed, her lips parted, her breath coming in short bursts. As Patrick watches, Robyn arches her back again, her head tipping back, exposing her throat to the camera. Patrick’s hand works faster.

“Show me.” He manages through gritted teeth. “Fucking _right now_ , Robyn.”

Her eyes open and appear to meet his directly, although he knows she can still only see his hand pumping his dick.

“See, you can be bossy but I can _tease_ , Patrick.” She says, her voice still breathless but with a hint of amusement in it.

_Oh, fucking really?_

Patrick flips his own phone around again and brings it back to his face, denying her any further view of what _he’s_ doing. He raises one eyebrow at her and she brings her hand up in front of the screen and shows him her middle finger, raising an eyebrow in return. Patrick laughs and she grins, then her hand drops out of view again and her breath hitches.

“Oh, God, Patrick. It feels so fucking good though.” Her eyes close once more. Then she suddenly opens them, making eye contact once more. “Hey, Rick. Can you come over, when you’re done there?”

“Um, sure, I guess.” Patrick shouldn’t be surprised at how Robyn can suddenly change direction in the middle of something like this. She’s always been this way – if she has a thought, it has to come out right then. She’s scarily similar to Pete in this respect. Nonetheless, he _is_ surprised. Maybe she’s not as into this as he thought, if she can swerve onto band stuff so unexpectedly. “When we’re finished, Pete and I will-“

“No, Patrick.” Is she _blushing_? “Can _you_ come over?”. Yeah, she’s definitely blushing. Patrick has never seen Robyn shy with him before. This is completely new. But then, if she’s asking him what he thinks she’s asking him...

 “Are you sure?” He asks. “Like, really?”

“Yes, Patrick, like, _really_.” Robyn watches his smile grow more confident, then she hammers the point home. “Just so we’re clear, I’m asking you to come over here and have sex. Is that ok?”

His smile broadens into a complete grin, his whole face lighting up, eyes crinkling shut as they only do in his biggest, happiest smiles.

“Definitely.” He says. “Now turn your fucking phone around and show me your hand.” He pauses, and his grin turns cocky, eyebrows raising again. “Or I won’t come over.”

“Patrick, you’re so _bad_.” She responds. The phone turns and moves down her body again, reaches her belly-button and-

Someone knocks on the bathroom door. Patrick’s phone flies up out of his hand and he scrabbles at it, snatching it out of the air.

“You in there, Rick?” Pete. Of _course_ Pete has come looking for him. He was behaving strangely in the boardroom then just took off. Patrick wonders how long he’s been gone for. He wonders if he’s cut Robyn off.

“Uh...yeah...hang on.” He calls out, distracted, turning his phone over in his hand and looking at the screen. Robyn is grinning again. But she’s still there. Cool.

“Are you okay, man?” Pete calls. “You were acting a little...hinky back there.”

‘Yeah. I think...I think I had some bad sushi or something.” Patrick immediately regrets that answer and grimaces.

“Oh.” Pete pauses. Then. “Got the squits, huh?” And Patrick can hear the amusement in Pete’s voice now. And Robyn is laughing on his screen.

“Yeah, I guess I do.” Patrick answers. He makes a mock-angry face at Robyn and shakes his head at her.

“Is that Pete?” Robyn asks. Then she actually _yells_. “Hey Pete!”

“Are you on the phone to Robyn?” Pete asks incredulously. “While you’re _shitting_? I mean, I know you guys are close but have some fucking boundaries, dude.”

Now Patrick shows Robyn _his_ middle finger and she laughs again, covering her mouth with her hand. And it’s the cutest thing Patrick has seen in a long time. _Shit_. So, this is not just a sex thing – his crush isn’t so dead after all.

“Ok, so I’m going back now.” Pete says. “Don’t be too long. You need to sign off on a few things before we take it to everyone else. And say ‘hey’ back at Parker for me. Tell her I’ll call her later.”

Patrick presses his ear against the door, as if he could hear Pete walking away through a public restroom door. Then he resumes his position against the sink and smiles at Robyn through the screen.

“I think I need to get back in there.” He says. Robyn pouts playfully and now _that’s_ the cutest thing he’s seen in a long time. “Hey, the sooner I get done in there-“

“The sooner you can get in _here_ ” Robyn says and suddenly her phone is pointing to the one place he hasn’t seen yet. It’s just a brief flash before she moves it back to her face but it’s enough to set his blood on fire again. Robyn winks at him. “See you soon, Rick.” And she hangs up on him.

*****

The rest of the meeting is hard. _Patrick_ is hard. He doesn’t know how he managed to wrestle his raging boner back into his jeans but he did, somehow, and he tries to concentrate on the contract details for the remainder of the morning. He very pointedly does _not_ think of Robyn, naked and wet, next to her pool, her hands skimming all the places he wants his mouth to be. He sends her one more message, when he’s in the elevator with Pete, and gets one in return.

“I’m just leaving now. Should be with you in about 20 minutes. Do NOT get yourself off. I’m the only one who gets to do that today. That’s an order.”

“Bossy. Hot. No orgasms until you get here. Promise.”

In the parking lot, under the building, Patrick thanks whatever made him decide to drive there that morning, rather than jump in with Pete. Otherwise he’d be asking Pete to drop him off at Robyn’s and not come into the house with him, and that wouldn’t be weird and awkward at all. As he opens the door to climb into his car, Pete pulls up next to him, window down, and leans out.

“So, Stump, does bad sushi always give you a major erection or is it some kind of weird side effect?” Pete grins. Patrick closes his eyes and sighs. “You and Robyn. It’s about goddamned time. I thought you guys would get to the sex years ago, but you never did. I’m glad to see you’ve both finally come to your senses. And I’m telling you now, I got dibs on Best Man and Godfather to your firstborn.”

“Jesus _Christ_ , Pete!” Patrick hisses, looking around to make sure no one is there to hear Pete’s voice echoing around the lot. Pete laughs his dorky laugh. “How the hell did you know?”

“You’re an open book to me, Pattycakes.” Pete's grin widens – amazing how that’s even possible – at Patrick's grimace at the old and detested nickname, one of many that Pete keeps tucked away for use at the worst possible times. “You guys have been circling each other like wildcats as long as I’ve known you and the past few months have been nothing but the two of you sneaking not-so-secret glances at each other whenever you think the other isn’t looking. The sexual tension has been killing me.” Pete's eyebrows raise at Patrick's shocked blink. “Oh, you didn’t know she was into you? Shouldn’t be a surprise, you being so down on yourself all the time. I _could_ tell you how many of your solo shows she went to. And about the time I caught her looking at pictures of you online. _That_ was interesting.” He laughs again. “But I’m holding you up right now.” He gives Patrick a light punch in the arm. “Good luck, man. Seriously. You guys are my OTP. I’ve been shipping you behind the scenes for years. Make me proud.”

“Fuck you.” Patrick grumbles, but he’s grinning too now.

“No.” Pete replies, gunning his engine. “ _You_ fuck _her_. Later, dude.” And he’s gone, tyres squealing as if he’s in Miami Vice.

Patrick looks at his cell. He’s whistling as he gets into his car. It takes him almost the entire journey to Robyn's house to realise he’s whistling the refrain from ‘Gett Off’ by Prince.

_How appropriate._


	2. Miserable and Stunning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't a direct continuation of Chapter One, but a visit to the past and a look at how Robyn and Patrick got from there to here. This wasn't what I intended the second chapter to be - it was meant to be straight to the smut - but my brain being what it is, I couldn't do that without at least a little bit of a look at why they'd jump straight from friends to lovers in one afternoon so easily. I think this chapter bridges that gap quite nicely.
> 
> Plus, we get the opportunity to admire Patrick through the years - what's not to love?

_It was the summer of 2001…_

Robyn has been working at Borders for 4 weeks. It’s a Saturday job that doesn’t suck too badly. The best part of her day is Joe coming in because having your best friend in your workplace, especially when your best friend is Joe Trohman, is kind of awesome. They’ve known each other forever – their Moms are best friends – and went through school together until the end of junior high, at which point Joe got shipped off to New Trier (because his Dad is a heart surgeon and his family has money to spare) and Robyn went to the local high school (because her Dad split when she was two and her Mom works two jobs to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table). Joe doesn’t need to work – his parents buy him whatever he wants, within reason – but if Robyn wants to have any kind of social life she has to fund it herself. So, Borders.

Today, Joe is chattering away excitedly about some band he’s recently got stuck on – Neurosis – and Robyn is pricing up discounted CDs, half-listening to Joe but mostly watching the nerdy-looking kid who is flicking through the Blues CDs across the shop floor. Her manager is on his break – he’s pretty lax about leaving a 16-year-old effectively in charge of the music department with very little training to her name – so Joe can jabber and Robyn can slack off. Her neck itches. It’s a hot day and there’s no air con in this store – Patrick will experience a similar feeling some 12 years from now – and her regulation polo-shirt has a label that scratches at her sensitive skin.

The nerdy kid is short, has glasses and reddish hair, which looks like it needs a good cut. He’s wearing a band t-shirt, but she can’t see what it is from here. Every so often he glances Joe's way and he looks pissed off. The tips of his ears are going red as his lips pinch in annoyance. Robyn knows that Joe is talking loudly enough for his voice to be carrying across to Nerdy Kid – who she’s sure she knows from somewhere – and _something_ he’s saying is pushing Nerdy Kid’s buttons. She’s dying to see how this plays out.

“Put it on!” Joe shoves the CD across the counter, snapping her attention back to him. She looks at the CD, then back up at Joe.

“I don’t get to choose the music here, asshole.” She says. “This isn’t Empire fucking Records and I’m not Liv Tyler. This is a chain. A boring chain, that plays boring Top 40 across every branch. Look at my shirt.” She tugs the cotton across her chest. “See that? It’s _uniform_ , ok?”

“Lame.” Joe complains. “I want you to hear them. They’re so cool.” And he’s off again, talking about ‘genres’ and ‘breaking boundaries’ and-

“You’re wrong.”

Holy _crap_ , did Nerdy Kid just teleport himself across the store? He just appeared next to Joe, making Joe jump almost a foot in the air and Robyn drop the pricing gun onto the counter.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Joe says, but he says it mildly enough. He looks at the kid. Robyn narrows her eyes. She definitely knows him from somewhere. And he’s more pissed than ever.

“Neurosis.” Nerdy Kid says, pointing at Joe's CD – technically Borders’ CD, as Joe hasn’t bought it and probably won’t. “You’re totally way off about them.”

“Yeah?” Joe grins, enjoying this strange little guy who feels the need to butt into private conversations. “What do you know? I know about music.”

“I know more about music!” Nerdy Kid insists.

“Wow.” Robyn scoops up the CDs she was pricing and lifts the hatch to come out from behind the counter. “Why don’t you just get your dicks out and compare them?”

She rolls her eyes and walks away to fill the discount bin, leaving the two boys arguing behind her. When she comes back, she sees the back of Nerdy Kid’s head as he leaves the store. Joe is holding a slip of paper.

“So?” Robyn asks. “Was he cute? Did you get his number?”

“You’re hilarious.” Joe tells her. “And yeah, actually I did.” Robyn grins and lifts her eyebrows. “Asshole. He plays drums. We need a drummer. Gonna see if Pete wants to go over later and listen to him. You want to come with?”

“Sure.” Robyn shrugs, picking up her pricing gun again, and adjusting the settings. “Can we eat first?”

“I guess. He goes to your school, you know.”

“I knew I’d seen him before. I think he’s in my Spanish class. What’s his name?” Robyn presses the gun to Joe's forehead, pricing him at a dollar fifty. Joe peels the sticker from his face with a grimace.

“Patrick.” He says. “Patrick Stumph-with-an-H.”

“Patrick.” Robyn repeats, saying it slowly and savouring it. For some reason she likes the taste of Nerdy Kid’s name in her mouth.

 

2003 _– Boys like you are overrated_

Robyn is still very much in possession of her virginity at 19. She treasures it, keeps it safe and precious, and is in no particular hurry to rid herself of it. Unless Patrick wants it. At this point, she’d do anything Patrick asked her to and give him anything within her power to give – including her virginity. She knows that Patrick was relieved of his own virginity at 17 after a show. She knows it happened in the van, that Patrick was drunk, and the girl was 21 and intimidating as hell. Patrick hadn’t stood a chance, but also hadn’t seemed unhappy about the prospect as he was led away out of the venue and into the night. He’d come back half an hour later, with a stupid, dopey smile on his face that Robyn had never seen before. That was the night, the very moment in fact, that Robyn realised how much she liked Patrick, how much of a crush she actually had on him, and it stung.

She’s also, even at 19, very naïve in many ways. You would think, having been around Pete Wentz for so long that there would be next to no innocence left in her. You’d be wrong. You would think that Patrick, having been in even closer proximity to Pete for over two years, would also be more worldly-wise. You’d be wrong about that too.

Robyn has kept her feelings for Patrick a secret. No one knows, not even Joe, and she tells him everything. But Robyn hasn’t reckoned with Pete and his all-seeing eye. Pete has been watching Robyn watching Patrick lately and while it might not be obvious to most people, Pete is not most people. At first, he’s surprised – not that Robyn is into Patrick because bitch, _please_. As far as Pete is concerned the only thing that he doesn’t understand is why _everyone_ isn’t into Patrick. No, what he’s surprised about is that Robyn and Joe are ‘just friends’. Pete has never been ‘just friends’ with a girl and he can’t get to grips with the concept at all. The fact that _he_ and Robyn are entirely ‘just friends’ hasn’t crossed his mind because he sees her as one of the guys.

Once he gets over his surprise, he’s amused. Boy, is he tickled at Robyn's wide-eyed, breathless, sometimes-barely-able-to-speak behaviour around Patrick. Patrick, of course, is oblivious, as ever. And Pete knows it isn’t because Patrick sees Robyn as one of the guys. Nothing could be further from the truth. Patrick told Pete very early on that he only went into Borders that fateful day because he’d found out that beyond-cool-Robyn-from-Spanish-class worked there and was trying to think of a way to talk to her. He’d come out of the store thinking Joe was Robyn's boyfriend – he’d bumbled along with that idea in his head for almost four months of band practice, despite there being zero evidence of anything other than friendship between Robyn and Joe. By the time Patrick realised what the truth was, he and Robyn were already in a friendship that neither of them could see the other wanting to take further.

They’re setting up to play one afternoon, in the middle of Ohio, and once again Robyn is sneaking glances at Patrick as he tunes up with Joe across the hall. Pete is nearby and decides to tackle the situation head on – by being a dick about things, as usual.

“You’re super fucking obvious.” He tells Robyn, who starts at the words, her face going scarlet and her eyes as wide as Pete has ever seen them. It would be cute if it weren’t oh-so tiresome after so long. “Just tell him.”

“Shut up!” Robyn hisses. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice is a fierce whisper.

“Sure you don’t.” Pete replies. He pauses, considering his words, then his face splits into a grin and Robyn holds her breath, knowing something terrible is coming. She’s not wrong. “You know he’s packing, don’t you?”

And here’s where the naivety kicks in. Because that’s a phrase Robyn hasn’t heard before. Well, she _has_ , but not in the context Pete means.

“To go where?” Robyn asks. Pete blinks in astonishment. Surely not. Is she serious right now? But before he can explain, Robyn is on her way over to Patrick and Joe.

“Are you kidding me?” Pete mutters, following.

Patrick has turned to his mic stand, adjusting the height of it, as Robyn stops in front of him.

“Are you moving?” she asks. Patrick looks around the stage. It’s a small space – the stage itself is inches above the ground. He looks confused.

“I mean…I usually stand in the middle.” He says. “Do you think I should stand somewhere else?”

“What? No.” Robyn says. “I meant, are you moving house?”

“Um, no?” Patrick looks to Joe for assistance. Joe shrugs, arms wide, and turns back to his amp. Patrick looks over Robyn's head to Pete, who also shrugs, feigning innocence. Patrick looks back at Robyn, concerned about _her_ concern. “Where have you got that from?”

“Pete said you’re packing.” Robyn tells him. Joe snorts laughter. Patrick freezes, rooted to the spot. _He_ knows what Pete means – the first time they pissed next to one another, out the back of a club, Pete had whistled, impressed, and made comments about ‘Stump’s and tree trunks’ and Patrick's surname not living up to his dick. “Where are you going?”

“Are you home-schooled?” Pete asks, incredulously. “It means he has a big dick.”

There is absolute silence. Patrick tries not to look at Robyn. He really does. But she’s right there and just for a moment her eyes shift to his crotch. Patrick wants to die on the spot. Then Robyn realises where her gaze is resting and looks up. Her eyes meet Patrick's. And that’s so much worse, for both of them. Patrick wonders which of them is blushing more. Robyn whirls away from him and faces Pete.

“You fucking _foetus_!” she shouts, her voice cracking with humiliation. She leaves the hall at speed, goes to the van and cries.

Andy has stern words with Pete, who can’t see what he’s done wrong – many years later, when he’s matured some, he will apologise to Robyn for the incident – and the show is an absolute disaster. Patrick stumbles over lyrics, makes eye contact with precisely no one, and breaks two strings due to his heavy-handed playing. Robyn is tearful and anxious, when she’s not shooting daggers at Pete, and her harmonies are lacklustre.

But she doesn’t forget the topic of conversation or the way Patrick adjusted his jeans when she looked. She never forgets.

 

2005 _– I’m hopelessly hopeful you’re just hopeless enough…_

The band is huge and Patrick has a girlfriend. Robyn tries to hate her but she can’t. Patrick is all sunny smiles and hickeys hidden behind neckerchiefs. He hasn’t actually said that he’s in love but Robyn strongly suspects he is. But by now, Robyn has developed the fine art of Not Giving A Shit. Or so it would seem.

Robyn tucks away her feelings into the smallest part of her – the place that used to house her daydreams of first love and a perfect first time. She’s sexually experienced now. It wasn’t Patrick. It was never going to be Patrick, much as she wished it. He just doesn’t see her that way and once she realised that, she was free to move on to people who _do_ see her that way. She’s not promiscuous like Pete and Andy but she’s not going to commit to one person – the way Joe has with Marie – just yet either. She’s all about the middle ground.

So…she makes out with a Backstreet Boy at the VMAs after-party, has a very secret three-month fling with Brendon Urie when Pete first signs Panic! to his label, and has an extremely wild four-day-weekend in Atlantic City with Gabe Saporta where, once they sober up, they both agree it’s a good thing they aren’t in Vegas or things may have become very legally-binding between them.

For two days they’re filming the video for ‘Dance, Dance’ in a high school in New York. Robyn is under the weather and tired. There are girls screaming Pete's name _everywhere_. Robyn wonders how many of those girls know what an absolute douche Pete can be. Oh, and Patrick's girlfriend has decided to drop in for a surprise visit. The joy!

While Pete is busy filming his big dance scene, Robyn wanders around the school, comparing it to the one she attended with Patrick, poking her head into science labs and locker rooms, wrinkling her nose at the stink in both – burnt chemicals and sweaty teenagers smell the same wherever you go, it turns out. She finds a History classroom and sits in the teacher’s chair, folding her arms on the desk in front of her and resting her hot forehead on them and closing her tired eyes. She just wants a little peace and quiet and time alone, even if it’s only for five minutes. She should know by now that she never gets what she wants.

The door bursts open and thuds against the wall. There is a feminine giggle and a deeper voice shushing but there’s a smile in it. Robyn lifts her head, which is now _pounding_ and glares at Patrick and…Jenny? Ginny? Robyn can’t remember the girlfriend’s name but finds that now she actually _does_ hate her, draped over Patrick the way she is, all short skirt and bubble-gum-pink glossy lips and flawlessly straightened hair. She hates Patrick too, for invading her space and bringing his stupid, perfect, pretty girlfriend with him.

It’s not fair. It’s not fair that he’s so gorgeous and so unobtainable at the same time. Robyn regards him through fuzzy vision – he’s still in his ‘stage’ outfit, the striped blazer and the over-sized cap that sits low on his forehead, casting shadows over his face, and totally failing to keep his hair and sideburns in check. But the blazer is unbuttoned and his belt is undone…oh, _that’s_ why they came crashing in here like that. Typical. A whole school and they choose the one room that’s occupied by the person who wants to see them least.

Patrick has the good grace to look sheepish when he sees Robyn, his cheeks flushing that shade of pink that Robyn always finds so endearing when it’s _her_ that’s making him blush.

“Oh. Hey. Hi.” Patrick stammers. “Sorry, we just…we were…we should leave” he jerks his thumb over his shoulder at the open door, but seems hesitant. He takes a step closer, concern clouding his face. “Are you ok?”

“Can we just, like, go?” Jenny/Ginny asks, tugging impatiently at Patrick's arm.

“I don’t _like_ you.” Robyn slurs, her lip curling. Jenny/Ginny visibly bristles.

“That’s rude.” She says. She turns to Patrick as he shakes her off him and crouches next to Robyn, pressing the back of a cool hand to her burning cheek. “Is she drunk?”

“No, she’s sick.” Patrick replies, not taking his eyes from Robyn. “Jesus, 'Byn, you’re like a bonfire. Go and get Andy.” Patrick tosses over his shoulder without turning. The girlfriend leaves but doesn’t look happy. “How long have you felt like this?” Patrick asks Robyn gently, his hand turning over to cup her cheek in his palm.

“Since I met you.” Robyn tells him. Her eyes begin to roll back in her head and she starts to slide out of the chair. Patrick, somehow, catches her in time to stop her banging her chin on the edge of the desk and saving her several stitches. He keeps her in his lap, in his arms, until the ambulance arrives. While they wait the girlfriend becomes an ex, dumping Patrick unceremoniously, in front of the entire band, entourage, and film crew, over of his ‘lack of priorities’ and ‘too much time spent with his so-called friend’. Pete outwardly preens at this before realising it’s not about him. Patrick merely shrugs at the words, barely lifting his eyes from Robyn.

_Glandular fever_ , the doctor tells them. _Severe glandular fever_ , he looks sternly at all four young men when he says this, emphasising the first word, as if they’re all at fault for Robyn's condition. Patrick isn’t listening – he’s sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, his fingers threaded through Robyn's as she sleeps. He won’t leave, doesn’t leave, until her fever breaks around 4.30 in the morning and she struggles awake, thirsty and confused. Patrick holds a cup of water to her dry lips and lets her take small sips, then watches her fall asleep again.

His heart aches.

 

2007 _– Baby, seasons change but people don’t_

“You’re basically drooling.” Robyn tells Patrick. “It’s not attractive.”

“I can’t help it.” Patrick protests, trying to keep his voice low, so the girls don’t hear him. “I’m going through a dry spell, dude, and Pete keeps throwing models in front of me, like I stand a chance with any of them!”

Robyn hears nothing aside from the word ‘dude’, in reference to her. She’s ‘dude’ now. On the one hand, she’s _always_ been ‘dude’ to Joe – she once heard Joe call a floor-lamp ‘dude’, when he was stoned and politely asking it to step out of his way – so she should be used to this by now, but at the same time this is completely new behaviour from Patrick. He sees her as just one of the guys now.

There was a time, a strange, fleeting period, after she’d been in the hospital, when the two of them kind of tip-toed around the edges of…something for a couple of weeks, but they’re both shy and awkward, and they both see themselves as undesirable, and they both think the other could never in a million years be interested in them, so the moments came and passed and they eventually dropped back into their usual pattern of yearning-from-a-distance.

“No, but like, he stayed there _all night_.” Joe told her, when they were alone in the studio, Joe recording loops for the next album and Robyn keeping him company. “He held your hand for hours, man. Don’t you remember him being there when you woke up? It was like the most clichéd romantic movie trope ever.”

“Well, yeah, because he’s my best friend.” Robyn argued, wishing it were anything other than that. She would kill for the romantic cliché.

“No.” Joe shook his head. Robyn sighed.

“Ok, you’re my _best_ friend.” She reassured Joe, who looked way too pleased. “But you know what I mean. He would’ve done that for any of us. Even you.”

“Hold my hand all night?” Joe's eyebrows rose in surprise. “I don’t think I have that kind of relationship with the little dude.”

“You made out with him at a party like five years ago!”

“ _That_ was for a bet. Money changed hands. I took twenty dollars from Pete for that. That is not this. And you are not me. He’d make out with you for nothing.”

Robyn, knowing that Joe was way off track, had changed the subject. Now she looks at Patrick as he looks at the two dancers across the set from them. She gets it. She totally does. The girls are gorgeous, objectively so, and Patrick obviously hasn’t gotten laid in a while. He’s not outright staring because that would be rude and Patrick has manners on top of his manners, but he’s not _not_ looking either.

They’re filming yet another video – _The Take Over, The Break’s Over_ – and they’ve been at it all day. Now they’re at a point where other people need to be on screen with the band and there should be three dancers on set but so far only two have shown up. Robyn can’t help comparing herself to them, knowing it’s a futile exercise and that it isn’t good for her self-image. They’re not wearing a great deal, which is probably why Patrick – and every other guy in the place – is eyeing them up. Robyn abruptly feels very self-conscious in her black jeans and long-sleeved t-shirt – she’s aware she’s dressed pretty much like a guy, but that’s what she does, what she’s always done. She doesn’t do the girl thing – dresses and skirts and hair and make-up – but now part of her brain is flaring to life and wondering how Patrick would react if she _did_ do that. Would he gawk at her the way he does other pretty girls? Would he laugh at her? No, he wouldn’t do that. Pete absolutely would, but nothing new there. Would Patrick even notice a difference?

While the girls are dancing, Robyn stands off-camera with the guys. Pete stands with his forearm resting on Patrick's shoulder as they watch. Patrick still has his guitar slung around his body, holding it by the neck at his side. At one point, Pete whispers directly into Patrick's ear, making Patrick look down at himself and sharply swing his guitar front and centre, with a strangled “shit!”. Pete laughs. Robyn's face burns – she’s close enough to have picked up Pete's words, even over the music. “Dude, I know it’s been a while, so you probably get excited over very little at the moment, but thank fuck for loose pants because you might want to re-position your instrument, if you know what I mean.” Patrick knew what he meant and so did Robyn. She did _not_ look, this time. She did the adult thing of appreciating every other part of Patrick.

While they were filming as a band and she was behind him she kept watching his foot stomp to the beat – something he does frequently, without realising – and the occasional way he would move both feet at once, kind of swaying out on his ankles. Yes, he’s wearing baggy jeans, but that doesn’t stop her from noticing his ass – it’s looking particularly munchable today – and the pushed back sleeves of his black cardigan just emphasise his forearms as he plays. His hair is still long and his sideburns are still very much a thing and Robyn spends far too much time these days daydreaming about winding her hands into that hair and tugging him in for a kiss. Patrick does not kiss in videos – that’s Pete's job, which he adds into treatments whether it’s called for or not – but Robyn has witnessed him kissing other girls and he looks like he knows exactly what he’s doing. (She doesn’t count the kiss they had at that stupid school dance in Senior Year, because it wasn’t a real kiss and Patrick didn’t mean it). Plus, he has _that_ mouth, the mouth that gets talked about online all the time – the fanfics focus on his mouth a lot and Robyn totally agrees with the term ‘fanfic lips’, even if nine times out of ten they seem to be doing filthy things to Pete. She can still pretend he’s using them on her.

 

2008 _– Oh baby, when they made me they broke the mould_

Pete's wedding is insane. Just Pete getting married is insane. Robyn can’t stop looking at Ashlee’s stomach, knowing that there’s a tiny Wentz in there, probably causing carnage and putting on baby-eyeliner, ready to meet the press. She’s only obviously pregnant if you actually know she’s pregnant. It hasn’t been announced officially yet but the band were told as soon as Pete knew. Robyn, bizarrely, is a bridesmaid. Patrick, non-bizarrely, is Pete's Best Man. Neither of them has brought a plus-one.

Patrick is devastatingly handsome in his suit and hat. Robyn could cry as she watches him dancing with one of the many small children at the reception. She sits with Joe and Andy, her posture different in her black strappy dress – she’s extremely conscious that this is a designer dress, Vera Wang, and that it cost A Lot Of Money. Her hair, which she has been growing out, tired of the same short and shaggy boy’s cut that she’s been sporting for the past five years, has been curled and pinned up, with a couple of loose strands left free either side. She didn’t recognise herself when she saw her reflection in Ash’s full-length mirror at the hotel. She feels feminine and pretty – she usually feels neither.

Walking down the aisle behind Ashlee, with a bouquet of red carnations held in both hands, she’d seen the slow smile that spread across Patrick's face when his eyes met hers. She wondered whether her cheeks were as red as the flowers she held. Then she wondered if Patrick were even smiling at her, but as they reached the priest and Ash took her place beside Pete, Patrick's smile widened into a grin and he mouthed ‘wow’ with a raise of his eyebrows. Robyn shook her head at him slightly and mouthed ‘shut up!’ back at him before stepping up with the other bridesmaids. She kept her eyes firmly on Pete and Ashlee as they exchanged vows and rings, blinking back the tears that threatened, but could feel Patrick's gaze on her throughout, apart from when he was called on to hand over the rings.

Marie manages to talk Joe into dancing and Andy has disappeared, leaving Robyn alone at their small table. She fiddles with the bouquet on the table in front of her, the petals curling slightly now and the leaves looking a little limp. She’s tightening the bow around the flowers, wondering if she can get away with putting them in her water glass to liven them up a little, when Patrick sits down in Andy's vacant chair next to her.

Where the other groomsmen have loosened or even removed their ties by now, Patrick's is still neatly knotted and perfectly in place, his shirt tucked in, his jacket pristine. He’s enjoying the opportunity to dress up. He lifts his hat momentarily, runs his fingers through his hair, settles the hat back down. He regards Robyn, then unexpectedly scoots his chair closer to hers, parting his legs in order to sit as close as he can, his knees either side of hers. Robyn's heartbeat trebles in speed – he’s close enough that she can see the different shades of blue in his eyes, can smell the cologne he’s wearing. Oh no, no, this is too much!

“So, have I told you how beautiful you look?” He asks, seriously. Robyn shakes her head slowly. She’s beyond speaking. “Well…you do. You look absolutely beautiful today, 'Byn. Talk about the big John Hughes reveal.”

As if he realises how personal and intimate the moment is, he coughs and transfers his attention to the flowers. His fingers fidget on the ribbon, playing with the satin. Robyn's hands are in her lap now and when Patrick takes them in his own, leaning his elbows on his knees and looking up at her intently, Robyn almost forgets how to breathe. This is it. This is when he tells her how he feels. She knows it. She holds her breath and waits.

“Dude, I’m fucking _married_!” Pete crows, descending down on them and dropping into Patrick's lap. If he noticed they were holding hands, before Robyn pulled away to prevent broken fingers, he makes no mention of it. Robyn suspects she could pull the front of her dress down right now and Pete wouldn’t notice. He’s not drunk but he’s definitely high on happiness. He hooks an arm tightly around Patrick's neck. “I have a wife, man, and I’m gonna have a kid. Come and drink with me, best of friends and men!” He’s up and away, dragging Patrick along by his tie – and the mental image _that_ throws up makes Robyn's breath abruptly leave her body once again in a short, sharp gasp – and Patrick throws back an apologetic look over his shoulder.

Joe returns to the table seconds later, looking glum.

“Marie got called into work.” He announces, resting his elbows on the table and propping his chin up with his hands. “I mean, at least I don’t have to dance anymore, right?” Without giving Robyn the chance to answer he barrels on. “Wanna get wasted?”

Robyn glances across to the bar. Patrick and Pete are throwing back shots and one of the other bridesmaids is standing extremely close to Patrick who looks both embarrassed and pleased at the same time.

“Hell _yes_!” Robyn tells Joe.

Two hours later, Joe is half-asleep with his arms folded, crushing the bouquet, and his head pillowed on his forearms. Robyn has taken the pins from her hair and shaken the curls out, leaving bleached-blonde waves brushing her cheeks. She’s pleasantly drunk, having learned to tolerate her alcohol over the years spent touring with the band, and her eyelids are heavy. She has watched Patrick dance with the bridesmaid and it’s the girlfriend all over again, only more sophisticated and much more aggressively-flirty.

Pete and Ashlee have left, gone on honeymoon, although Robyn doesn’t know where they’ve gone and can’t think that there are many places left in the world that Pete hasn’t already been to by now. The bridesmaid has her arms around Patrick's neck, hands loosely clasped behind his head, and Patrick's hands are at her waist. She’s wearing his hat. This, more than anything, annoys Robyn into action.

“I should tell him.” She says, to no one in particular. “I should go over there and tell him that…we should get married and have all the babies. Patrick's babies would be way better than Pete's stupid baby anyway!”

“Not a good idea.” Andy says, in that voice he saves for when ‘the kids’ are acting up. Robyn narrows her eyes at him.

“When did you come back?” She asks.

“I’ve been here since you and Trohman decided to consume your body weights in Bacardi and coke.” Andy informs her. “I’ve only stuck around because somebody has to be the responsible adult and make sure you all get to your rooms safely.”

“He’s right.” Joe lifts an arm and points at Andy, who pushes Joe's hand out of his face irritably. “You did drink a lot, and you should _not_ tell Patrick anything, unless it’s to get more drinks.”

“Nope.” Andy shakes his head, turning to Joe. “No more for either of you. Time for bed, Joe. You too, Robyn.”

But Robyn is gone, a tiny part of her mind thankful that she kicked off the heels she’d been talked into wearing, and making her way determinedly across to Patrick. She sways to a standstill in front of him. He’s as drunk as Robyn and Joe, glassy-eyed and struggling to focus. His tie is gone now, and his top three shirt buttons are undone, his jacket and shirt-sleeves pushed back sloppily. He looks so delicious that Robyn almost growls.

“Oh, my.” The bridesmaid laughs, looking at Robyn. “You’re a mess.”

“ _You’re_ a mess.” Robyn replies. As soon as she’d been faced with Patrick, even in the state he’s in, she’d forgotten the other girl existed, but now she sees Patrick's hat again, where it shouldn’t be, and snatches it from the girl’s head. “’S’not yours.” She is about to put it on Patrick's head, where it rightfully belongs, when he takes it from her and lifts it solemnly to her head, as if crowning her. He nods slowly.

“Byoofull.” He slurs. “Tole you earlier, ‘Byn. Mos’ byoofull girl here.”

The other girl, sensing she’s losing the battle for Patrick's affections and not having the energy to fight, walks away. Neither Robyn or Patrick notice her go.

“Come to my room?” Patrick asks, as if either of them are in any state to do anything. “We can have sex.” This is the greatest idea Robyn has ever heard in her _life._

“Nope.” Andy repeats. He has Joe by the arm, tugging him along beside him, but realises he only has one more hand and two more of the kids to manoeuvre. He sighs, lets go of Joe for a second and bends his knees in front of Robyn, intending to carry her over his shoulder.

“OhmyGod, Andy wants to marry me!” Robyn shouts. “I do! I do!”

“God, no.” Andy says, through gritted teeth. “I should get danger money as well as royalties, I swear.”

It takes very little to flop Robyn over his shoulder. Then he grabs Joe and Patrick by the wrist and leads them both towards the lobby like small children, hoping Robyn doesn’t fall without him holding her. Upside down, Robyn twists her head to look up at Patrick and reaches for his hand. He grins crookedly at her, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

“Sex, yeah?” He asks again. Robyn murmurs agreement, but they reach her room first and she’s asleep by the time they get there, Andy gently dropping her onto her bed. He has to fight a struggling Patrick back into the corridor, leaving Robyn's door card on the nightstand before letting the door close and lock between her and Patrick.

“Fight you, Hurley!” Patrick is all drunken-temper, flashing eyes and flailing fists, but Andy is sober and he swats Patrick off the way you would a toddler having a tantrum.

The next morning, Robyn and Patrick remember none of it and Andy doesn’t remind them.

 

2011 _– I’m not broken hearted, I’m just kinda pissed off_

Coming off tour, any tour, not matter how short or low-key it is, is a nose-dive, a crash back into mundanity and every day life. Normally, when tour ends with the band, Robyn is grateful for the quick dose of reality she gets, like coming up for air from the depths of water and grabbing a lungful before diving again, and then they’re back into the studio to start on the next album. That’s how it has gone previously.

But now they’re on a break. An indefinite break. It’s been two years since they walked off stage at Madison Square Garden, knowing they had no further plans together as a unit. At the time it had been both a relief to get away from the screaming matches – Pete and Patrick – and the sullen, introspective silences – Joe – and just…breathe. But they’re all musical and they need to be making music, whether together or apart. Robyn waits around the least amount of time – she signs to Pete's label, even though she’s still mad at him for having his head shaved during ‘Saturday’, and releases two Eps, then a full album. The Eps do well, the album does better – Pete sets up a 10-date tour and every date sells out. By the time 2011 is halfway through, Robyn is finishing her second tour and about to go back into the studio to start on her second album.

She has been kept so busy by Pete that she has no real idea what her former bandmates have been up to, other than Joe and Andy are in a heavy metal supergroup of some kind and Patrick is also flying solo – his tour is kicking off just as hers is finishing. Patrick is a perfectionist and has spent time crafting his solo output note by note, beat by beat, word by word, until it is _exactly_ the way he wants it to sound. Robyn feels sloppy in comparison. She hasn’t heard Soul Punk yet, not properly anyway. Truant Wave has been played on a loop since it came out, but all she’s heard from the album is what’s been played on the radio. What she’s heard, she loves, and she has definite plans for quality listening as soon as she gets home.

Her husband has other ideas. Doesn’t he always? Usually involving spending large amounts of her money. She met Cosmo – she knows, she knows – through Pete. He was working at the label and assigned to her at the beginning of her first EP cycle. She still doesn’t really know what his job was, only that he charmed and wooed her and eventually quit whatever-his-job-was once he’d proposed. The wedding was small and quiet and happened very quickly, before her album was even completed. Joe is still hurt that he wasn’t invited, but mostly because he can see, from a distance, that Robyn is being manipulated and played. He doesn’t like Cosmo. Cosmo knows it.

First night home and Robyn walks into a house that borders on trashed. She drops her overnight bag in the hallway and sits down on the stairs, not ready to face the kitchen and what she knows will be industrial-strength party remains, courtesy of Cosmo, the ultimate host. Turns out her casa is also Cosmo’s friend’s casa, especially while she’s on the road. She looks at the spray-paint decorating the antique mirror that Andy gave her and she calls Joe to come and pick her up.

“Patrick's in town.” Joe tells her in the car, purposely looking the other way as Robyn chews over that knowledge. “He’s playing tonight and I said I’d go along. You want to come with? Actually, it’s not open to debate. You’re coming with me. No arguments, dude. You’ll have a good time, I promise.” He sounds a little too sure of himself for Robyn's liking, so she shrugs her assent.

Robyn is exhausted and wants to do anything else more than spend the night in a packed club. It’s hot and stuffy, the lights too bright and the DJ preceding Patrick has his sound-system set up to favour the bass. Joe pushes a bottle of beer into her hand and she holds the cold glass to her sweaty forehead. When the lights finally dim and Patrick's band come onto the stage, Robyn is prepared to get through the set and get gone. She doesn’t have the enthusiasm for much else.

She’s not ready for Patrick.

He hits the stage in a way she’s never seen before, confident and cocksure and overflowing with attitude. He has a whole new look to go with his whole new sound and Robyn doesn’t know where to look. The bleached hair, with no hat restraining it, gradually falls into his face as he sweats his way through his set – so far, so old – and the blue suit fits him like a second skin. The blonde is new, the suit is nothing she hasn’t seen him wear before – although not this bright and bold and certainly not this tight – but the rest of it? Bow ties? Fingerless leather gloves? Who the fuck is _this_ guy? Robyn drinks him in and asks herself, not for the first time, why she’s married to fucking _Cosmo_. He doesn’t compare to Patrick. Nobody does.

At some point Joe hands her another beer, which she swigs from furiously without taking her eyes from Patrick. She doesn’t know when she started to weave through the crowd, needing to get closer to him, to be in his vicinity, but she’s quite close to the front, maybe three rows back, and drops her beer bottle – which Joe, standing at her elbow and grinning at her reactions to Patrick, catches neatly – when…

He starts to thrust and grind and rotate his hips. He’s doing obscene things to and with his mic stand. He growls as he sings, groans, moans and sighs. The lyrics are suggestive – which is the biggest understatement _ever_ – the delivery even more so. He makes eye contact with women in the audience, smiles, grins cheekily, even _winks_. He talks to the audience, answers back when they call out to him between songs, promises to come out after the show.

If Robyn wanted him before tonight – and she did, she always did – it’s nothing like the way she does now. Before, it was always kind of, well, sweet and romantic. She had occasional dirty thoughts about him, sure – she’s only human and he’s Patrick, for God’s sake – but mostly it was wanting to be with him. Now her feelings are carnal and filthy, thoughts of what she wants to do _to_ him and _with_ him and what she wants him to do in return. Her engine is well and truly revved, her motor oiled and her pistons pumping. She’s light-headed with lust and, looking around her, she knows she’s not the only one. He has the audience in the palm of his hand, every woman – and more than a few guys – wanting him.

She pushes to the front, pretty rudely if she’s being honest – she gives not one fuck, this is _her_ Patrick – and finds herself directly in front of him at exactly the moment he thrusts again and the lights somehow pick her out, making him look down at her, recognition flooding his eyes. His face splits into his widest grin of the night – and Robyn is 19 again, staring at his crotch and her cheeks stained crimson.

It’s bad. It’s so, so bad. His pants are tighter than she’s ever known him wear. With the movement and the material and the position she’s in, she sees nothing but the blatant outline of… _him._

“Oh my GOD!”

Thankfully the music drowns her out, but Patrick reads her lips anyway – it’s pretty obvious what she’s saying – and he…doesn’t miss a beat. Whoever this incarnation of Patrick is he goes with the flow. He licks his lips lasciviously between lyrics, his eyes locked on Robyn's, and Robyn's breath becomes so short that she wonders if asthma is contagious and, if so, if she’s caught Patrick's. He sees the effect he’s having and laughs into his microphone. Robyn realises what’s happened – she’s become a fangirl. Un-fucking-believable.

It all comes crashing down on her afterwards when she sees him with his arm around a petite, curly-haired, outright-beautiful woman. _She_ is no fangirl. She’s his long-term girlfriend. Robyn is crushed. She is out of the door and in a cab home, texting apologies to Joe on the journey.

Walking into the house that she paid for with her hard-earned money, to find her husband – fucking _Cosmo_ , how was _that_ not the biggest sign to run at the first hurdle? – in the $2,000 bed – that he insisted they buy – with the 21-year-old dog-walker from down the street is the final straw. She screams at him to leave, threatening him with the police if he doesn’t get out immediately, then sits in the middle of the floor and calls Joe – again.

“Remember how you didn’t get to come to my wedding?” Robyn sobs as soon as Joe answers. “You wanna come to my divorce instead?” She can hear Patrick in the background. He sounds bright and happy, that special note in his voice that he always has when a show has gone exceptionally well. He laughs. Robyn cries.

Then Patrick is on the line, having seen Robyn's name on Joe's screen before he answered. Patrick, who waited patiently – because manners on manners, remember? – while Joe listened to Robyn. Patrick not knowing that Robyn is burning for him, has always burned for him, that no one else can touch him. Patrick with the woman he’s thinking of proposing to tucked at his side. Patrick who teased Robyn from the stage because it’s ok, it’s cool, they’re friends, they have history, and Robyn is married and he’s maybe going to be married so flirting and teasing is allowed. Patrick hears Robyn crying and saying she can’t talk to him right now but his show was so good, Patrick, so fucking good, but please, _please_ put Joe back on. And he does. He hands the phone back to Joe, giving him a quizzical look. Joe shakes his head and closes his eyes as he hears Robyn's heart breaking at the other end of the line.

“I missed my chance, Joe. I don’t know if I ever even had one, but if I did, I missed it.”

She hangs up.

 

Now _– You know I only wanted fun and you got me all fucked up…_

Robyn is in a blind panic. She’s going from room to room at speed, her brain a flurry of activity. In her bedroom, the closet is open and there are clothes on the bed. In the kitchen, there are wine glasses and spirit tumblers on the counter top, alongside a bottle of un-opened white and a mostly-full bottle of Southern Comfort. She has put out, then put away again – almost immediately – shot glasses and a bottle of Tequila. The patio doors stand open, a trail of drying footprints leading into her house from poolside.

She has invited Patrick over for sex. Patrick has said yes. Patrick is on his way to her house. To have sex. With her. She is going to be naked with Patrick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos are great. Comments are better. And/or you can come and say hi on Tumblr @secretstudentdragonblog


	3. Listen, Miss, You've Got Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're all caught up on the history of these two - although there will be more trips down memory lane in later chapters - let's get down to it.
> 
> SMUT. Smut is here. Here is the smut.

Oh, but she played it so cool. She came off so nonchalant, not a care in the world, little-miss-breezy. But…oh my _God_ , inside she was shaking the whole time.

It was a joke, kind of, to begin with. She didn’t think Patrick would ever respond to her absurd not-so-subtle flirting. Because Patrick is dense when it comes to being hit on – by anyone, not just girls. Robyn has lost count of the number of obviously gay guys who have cornered Patrick in various bars and clubs – beer had come down Pete's nose when Patrick asked him what a twink was on one memorable night out after a show. She’s honestly not sure whether Patrick knows what the word means even now.

Robyn has stood by and watched girl after girl after girl blatantly throw themselves at Patrick. She’s watched him drunkenly approach girls himself, at after-parties, at weddings, at Pete's urging. She’s seen him shot down and she’s seen him score. She’s seen him stumble through a couple of awful, shitty relationships, watched his eyes widen with hurt at every twist and turn that they threw at him, watched him pick himself up and keep trying to make it work – even when it was obvious to everyone that it wasn’t going to work, Patrick kept going, because that’s the kind of guy he is.

She has even – on three occasions that she wishes she could wipe from her memory but knows she never can – witnessed Patrick be the chosen grenade jumper, when they were touring in the van and had no money for a motel. Each time she knew Patrick was reluctant to do it but she sat by and watched him straighten his shoulders and ‘take one for the team’. She would rather have frozen to death in the van than see him be led up the stairs in a stranger’s house, to a stranger’s bed. She had purposely turned away the morning after the second time it happened because the sight of the blossoming bite-mark on his neck made her feel nauseous. Patrick had seemed pretty embarrassed about that himself, wearing a neckerchief for the next two days until the bruise faded away.

What she’s _never_ seen – other than when he’s been hammered-drunk because that Patrick is a very different Patrick, as Pete's wedding demonstrated – is Patrick respond to flirting other than to laugh it off or to turn the conversation to a different topic. She’s unsure how much of it is down to Pete's outrageous fake-boyfriend bullshit that he cultivated up until the hiatus – the level of Pete's ‘flirting’ had to make everything else seem non-existent – and how much is outright obliviousness but if she were a betting girl she’d put money on the latter horse. And she thinks she’d win that bet.

It’s safe to say Robyn is in shock.

She had been having a very normal morning. The gym had been hit, endorphins had been released, workout goals as set by personal-trainer-extraordinaire Mr Andrew Hurley had been met, and she had managed to wriggle out of the corporate meeting that Pete had tried to talk her into attending with him and Patrick. Best part of the morning stuck in an airless office full of suits? No thank you – poolside was calling her name and there was a trashy novel waiting to be devoured in the sunshine. The next thing she knew she was sending nudes and her phone was showing her Patrick's dick in real time.

Her brain flashes her the image of Patrick in the bathroom. For a moment her head swims as she recalls the way he’d looked and sounded. Even on the small screen, even through the tiny speaker, it was all enough to make her dizzy. She hadn’t been lying when she said she’d never sent those kinds of pictures before. Not even her ex-husband – drinking, cheating _asshole_ – had been able to talk her into that. But for Patrick? Anything. Because the more time that’s gone by, over the years she’s known him, the harder it’s been to not just grab him and push him against the nearest hard surface and _do things to him_. Things that would seem awful when he carefully removed himself from her desperate clutches and said the worst thing she could imagine – ‘I just don’t see you that way’.

Today has changed everything. Patrick wants her. Ok, so probably he just wants a fuck and then to get the hell out of Dodge, which…isn’t ideal. Robyn is a realist – she isn’t expecting hearts and flowers and balcony scenes – but she always thought that if anything ever happened with Patrick it would mean something. She’d be lying to herself if she said that she hadn’t thought about what it would be like to be his girlfriend, his wife, the mother of his children. That last one she could never give too much of her time to – she’d watched Patrick with Bronx, with other babies and small children, and her heart ached at tiny fingers wrapping around Patrick's longer ones, Patrick singing animal songs and lullabies, Bronx dozing on Patrick's shoulder and Patrick bouncing lightly from one foot to the other to rock the toddler to sleep…

She shakes her head, drags herself out of fantasies filled with gold bands and ultrasounds, and looks at the clock on the kitchen wall. Oh God oh God oh _God_. It’s been 15 minutes since he texted – ‘should be with you in about 20 minutes’ – and she’s in her underwear. The shorts and top she had on earlier are still discarded outside, abandoned when she came indoors in pursuit of more appropriate clothing. Clothing hasn’t happened. Clothing is all over the bed. She has no idea what to wear to seduce him. Does she need to seduce him? Would she know how? This is _Patrick_. She needs to bring her A-game. Someone like him doesn’t look at someone like her every day.

She runs back to the bedroom and clears her bed by throwing everything back into the closet and slamming the door. That still leaves the clothing dilemma unsolved. The doorbell rings.

Fuck. _This_.

She’s going to _own_ this, yo. She struts down the hallway, like a goddamn Victoria’s Secret model on the runway, reminding herself of the urgency she heard in Patrick's voice earlier. She replays the look on his face as she teased him, the intensity in his eyes, the way he moaned her name at one point as he stroked himself. She did that to him. She provoked that reaction. Patrick Stump wants _her._ Whether it’s for an hour, a month, or for life, he wants her. She opens the front door, telling herself the powder-blue looks good against her tan, the high cut at the sides enhances her long legs, the bra pushes up just the right amount, the material is opaque enough to show a little but not a lot. She’s got this. She can do this. Patrick is totally going to-

All coherent thought flies away in a heartbeat. Patrick is wearing his sunglasses, fedora set jauntily at the back of his head and his head cocked to the side as he considers her. He stands seemingly casually, hands in his back pockets, one knee slightly bent as he leans his weight on that leg. Robyn can’t breathe. How dare he. How dare he turn up and look so fuck-worthy and be so totally unaware of what he’s doing to her!

“Hi.”

It’s one word, delivered in his usual voice, but there’s something there, some undertone that Robyn can’t quite put her finger on. His lips quirk into a slight smile. He takes off his sunglasses and lets them dangle from his fingers. Then he slowly, blatantly, looks her up and down, checking her out. When his eyes finally meet hers once more, they’re dark with desire. The smile is still there but now it has a dangerous edge to it. Robyn doesn’t know how her legs are still supporting her. She’s seen him look at other women plenty in the time she’s known him but she can honestly say she’s _never_ seen him so openly lustful.

“Can I…come in?” He draws the sentence out, raising his eyebrows a little. Robyn nods. Her mouth is dry. She couldn’t speak even if she knew what to say to him. She steps aside, letting Patrick through the door and closing it behind him. He knows her house, has been here many times over the four years since she bought it, so he doesn’t need to look for somewhere to leave his sunglasses, dropping them on the small table where she keeps her keys. Robyn tries to regain her composure.

“Umm, do you want a drink?” she asks, pleased at how level her voice sounds.

“Sure.” Patrick replies, his eyes raking up and down her body again. Robyn steps past him, heading for the kitchen. God knows she could use a shot of whiskey herself right now. But Patrick catches her wrist, lightly, and tugs her to a standstill. He tugs again and she turns to face him. He takes two steps, closing the distance between them and bringing him into her personal space. His other hand comes to her hip, his fingers resting lightly on skin that feels like it’s on fire. “After.”

He only needs to steer her backwards a little before her back hits the wall and his body keeps her there, pressing the bare skin of her shoulder blades against the cool plaster. He lets go of her wrist, bringing that hand up to her face, thumb skimming across her cheekbone, her mouth, fingers pushing her hair back then tangling in it behind her ear. He leans as close as he possibly can, his lips a hairs-breadth from hers.

“You’re overdressed.” He murmurs. “I mean, it’s probably a good thing you didn’t come to the door naked. Just imagine if that had been someone else instead of me. What were you thinking? I guess your mind was on other things, right?” His voice is low, deep, throaty. There’s a reason he does voice-acting these days – Patrick knows how to use his voice, and not just for singing. “I think the idea of another guy seeing you like this, and maybe having his hands on you, could ruin me. Especially when I _specifically_ told you to wait for me. You _did_ wait, didn’t you?” Robyn nods frantically and makes a sound of agreement – it’s all she can manage. “Good girl.” He pauses and Robyn closes her eyes. He’s going to kiss her now, she knows he is. He has to.

He doesn’t.

He rocks back onto his heels, putting enough distance between them that no part of him is touching her. Robyn opens her eyes in shock and stares at him. He tilts his head again, frowning, and pushes his hands into his front pockets this time, thumbs through his belt loops. The action pulls his jeans tighter, as if they weren’t tight enough already – thank God for skinny jeans – and automatically draws Robyn's eyes down. She is fully aware of the smirk on Patrick's face now. He knows _exactly_ what he’s doing. And she shouldn’t _still_ be blushing over this – she watched him jerking off not two hours ago – but somehow the bulge in his jeans is turning her on more than the sight of him with his dick in his fist had.

“It’s because it’s forbidden.” Patrick tells her, the fucking mind-reader. And he pulls his hands free and pops his top button, taking his sweet time over it. He remains just out of reach, but Robyn reaches for him anyway. She can’t help it – she wants, _needs_ , to touch him. He catches her wrist once more, holding her fingertips within grazing distance of him. Robyn cries out at the unfairness of it all. Patrick, that teasing son of a bitch, laughs. And pushes another button out of its hole. Undoing his jeans is making no difference to the size of him – his jeans are no looser in that area and something clicks in Robyn's brain. He’s not even fully hard yet. If he were the denim would surely release a little around him and it isn’t. Her fingers twitch towards him, wanting to help make it happen.

“Not yet.” Patrick tells her, still using that low, seductive tone of voice, turning Robyn's insides to molten lava. “Not until I say you can. Do you understand?” Robyn nods again, slowly because the blood is rushing to her head. “I need you to say it. Say ‘yes, Patrick. I understand.’” He locks eyes with her and waits.

“Yes, Patrick. I understand.” Robyn breathes.

“Say ‘I’ll wait until you tell me and I’ll do as I’m told.’”

“I’ll wait until you tell me and I’ll do as I’m told.”

“That’s my best girl.” Patrick turns her wrist so her hand is palm-side up and he moves forward just a fraction until the heel of her hand brushes rough denim and her fingers slide underneath that bulge, between his legs. She can feel him pulsing against her, and he’s thicker and longer than she realised even when she saw him on her phone screen. For a nanosecond he rubs against her and Robyn's breath catches in her throat, then he moves smoothly away again and growls “enough”.

“Who _are_ you?” The words burst from Robyn involuntarily. She knows she’s breaking character and this is against the rules that Patrick has quickly established and she’s fallen in line with, but – sweet _Jesus_ – even Soul Punk Patrick wasn’t this dominant. He raises one eyebrow at her and moves to re-fasten his buttons.

“I can leave, if you can’t control your impulses.” He tells her. “Is _that_ what you want?”

“No!” As if. “Please. I’ll be good. I’ll be patient.”

Patrick bites his bottom lip as his fingers hesitate at his buttons, debating whether to button up or down.

“Patient girls get rewards.” He eventually says and slides another button – _the last one_ , Robyn remembers, _he said ‘three buttons’ earlier_ – free. Then he lifts the hem of his t-shirt and rubs his hand over his stomach, pushing his jeans open at the top. Robyn stares again, this time at the waistband of his shorts – she doesn’t know why _that’s_ a turn-on but apparently everything is when it’s Patrick – and the line of hair trailing down from his navel into his underwear. Robyn has seen Patrick shirtless very few times since she’s known him – his body insecurities extend even to those closest to him – but she knows that the hair on his chest is lighter than the hair on his stomach, which is the colour his facial hair goes if he lets it grow in for more than a week or two.

Now his fingers stroke…slowly… down that happy trail and dip into his waistband as Robyn watches. He lets his hand slide further, pulling the material down, exposing more hair – Patrick has never been into man-scaping the way Pete has and Robyn is thrilled beyond measure at this little piece of knowledge – then lifts his eyes to Robyn's once again.

“I have something for you.” He tells her. Robyn swallows audibly. Patrick pulls his hand free. “We’ll get to that. Let’s see if you can earn it. Hands behind your back.” Robyn complies, quickly, tucking her hands between her ass and the wall. This incarnation of Patrick is unpredictable and pretty wild, and she can’t do as he asks fast enough. A familiar look crosses Patrick's face, one Robyn knows – he’s _thinking_ pretty hard about something, eyebrows slightly furrowed. This is his problem-solving face. His fingers tap against his thigh. “Stay.” He commands – and walks out of the house!

Robyn stays put out of surprise more than anything, wondering if Patrick has come to his senses and if his car is about to start up on the drive. Robyn does, in fact, hear the car door open, then close again a few seconds later, but there’s no indication that the car is running and Patrick comes back inside again moments later, something hanging down from his left hand. He closes the front door and steps up to Robyn again.

Patrick holds up the object – a black tie, one of his that he’s retrieved from his glovebox. Robyn wonders how recently he’s worn it, when it was last on him – will it still smell like him? “Turn around.” He says and Robyn does so, facing the wall. He puts his mouth to her ear and his voice softens. “Are you ok with this?”, he checks, himself again until she consents, the slightly concerned and shy Patrick making a fleeting appearance. God, but it _kills_ Robyn that he’s inhabiting this other personality so well but can snap out of it so smoothly. Robyn lifts her hands behind her, wrists crossed, and presents them submissively. Patrick's eyes darken again and he loops the tie around her wrists a couple of times, then knots it in place. “Good.” The bolder voice comes back. “Now you _can’t_ touch until I let you, can you?” Robyn shakes her head. His mouth is at her ear again. “You need to say it.”

“I can’t touch you.” Robyn confirms as Patrick turns her by the shoulders to face him again. “I need…permission?”

Patrick's eyes light up.

“Yeah.” He agrees, his voice a low whisper. “Permission. That’s good.”

There is a moment, a beat, where neither of them speak or move. Robyn leans back against the wall again, grateful it’s there to keep her upright, presses her bound hands to it, and Patrick's eyes roam over her body once more. Then he closes the distance between them and both hands come up and push into her hair, tipping her head back. His mouth is open slightly and Robyn is captivated by it, especially his lower lip. The fantasies she’s had about _that_.

“Patrick, I-” is as far as she gets because he finally, _finally_ kisses her. And Robyn actually squeaks into his mouth.

At first he tests his mouth against hers, the briefest brush of his lips, capturing her trembling bottom lip, then her mouth opens to his and she sighs just before his tongue touches hers. She was right about him – dude kisses like a pro, and if she thought her knees were weak before it was nothing on this. Despite Patrick's body being pressed against her, knee to chest, she still slides down the wall a little and his hands move from her hair to her hips, gripping her tightly enough that there are bruises shaped like his fingertips the next day. At the same time, he shifts his weight and moves one of his legs between hers so that even though she only slips an inch or two she still lands against his thigh.

And Patrick _rubs_ against her with his knee, the friction and the pressure combining to send her spiralling upwards. She has no choice but to break the kiss, much as she hates it – she needs oxygen because Patrick is making it hard for her to breathe. Her head tips back and Patrick immediately moves that amazing mouth of his to her neck. Robyn almost _dies_. She grinds down against his denim-clad leg, desperate for more, and feels his lips curve into a smile against her neck.

It’s difficult to concentrate on one thing over the other. His mouth is skimming across her skin, first up and behind her ear, pressing a kiss there, then back down and to her collar bone, but his knee is sending her into overdrive, making her tremble and drawing sounds from her that she knows she’s never made before. Patrick's lips curve again and his mouth vibrates as he laughs softly into the hollow at the base of Robyn's throat. Then he licks his way to the left, to the tender spot where her neck meets her shoulder, and scrapes his teeth carefully across the delicate skin, gauging her reaction – which comes in the form of her crying out and shivering with pleasure – before taking it further and sinking his teeth in, sucking a mark there. Robyn gasps his name into the air above his head, wondering how she’s going to stand his mouth being elsewhere, or his hands being on her, or him being inside her. She’s struggling as it is and she knows he’s barely getting started with her.

If this were a show, this would be the support act. This is the prelude to the overture, the appetiser to the main course, the prologue to a hefty novel. Patrick is just getting warmed up.

He pulls back again, looking at her intently. Something inside Robyn pulls tight. Patrick catches his bottom lip between his teeth as he looks at her, thinking about what he wants to do next. Robyn's fingers are itching behind her back and she struggles against the tie without realising.

“Hey!” The command is sharp. Robyn freezes. “Do I need to spank you?”

Robyn exhales abruptly. She doesn’t know where this is coming from or where it’s going next but she’d be a liar if she said she didn’t want him to do that to her right now. Patrick purses his lips, contemplating again.

“Next time, maybe.” He says. A small part of Robyn is disappointed but the bigger part fixates on the implications of what he’s said.

“Next time?” she asks.

“Of course. Did you think this was a one-time only deal? I mean…I want to have you on your knees for me at some point.”

The audacity and outright nerve of him to assume that such a thing is on the cards shocks a laugh out of Robyn. She will, of course. It’s not something she needs to think about. She definitely wants to do that for him and to watch him come undone and have _him_ at _her_ mercy. He leaves her no time to consider it further.

He places his hand, palm-flat against the wall beside her head, slides the other behind her and cups her ass. With a sharp tug she’s moulded to him, and he kisses her again, hard and deep. With her hands tied, Robyn prays he can keep them both on their feet. He speaks against her mouth as he squeezes her ass with one hand, the other at her waist, momentarily, then the backs of his fingers drifting up her side and hesitating at the side of her bra.

“I think it’s time I got you naked now. Bedroom.”

He lets her lead the way and she adds a deliberate sway to her hips, hearing his hum of approval behind her. Her wrists are still bound, the ends of the tie tickling the backs of her thighs as she walks up the stairs and along the hallway and Patrick brushes the tips of his fingers against hers as they ascend, just for a second. Robyn knows he’s taking his teasing to the extreme but also that the minor contact is a reassurance, from him to her, that teasing is all it is. She doesn’t need the reassurance, and she knows that _he_ knows that she doesn’t need it, but he gives it anyway.

In the doorway he slips his arm around her waist from behind, his hand on her stomach, bringing her to a standstill, at the same time moving close enough to her that his crotch rests neatly against her upturned palms. She strokes him with her fingers, rubs with the heel of her hand, feels the heat and hardness of him through his jeans. He jerks his hips backwards but kisses the back of her shoulder, trails his lips up the side of her neck to her ear, his voice a low rumble.

“I’m going to untie this now.” He pulls at the tie. “But you’re still to do as you’re told. Ok?”

She nods, but Patrick doesn’t move, waiting for something more. She gets it now. He’s trained her that well, that quickly. She has to agree verbally or it doesn’t count.

“I’ll do as you tell me.” She wonders if he can hear her heartbeat in her voice. She feels like she can taste it in her mouth. “Always.” She adds on, then holds her breath, wondering if that was too much, if it suggests this is long-term thing, which she doesn’t know if he wants. He doesn’t answer for a beat.

“Such a good girl.” Robyn isn’t sure whether to feel relieved that he ignored it or heartbroken that his ignoring it means he doesn’t feel the same. Then. “Always.” He repeats back to her in a whisper.

Before she can say anything further he’s loosening the tie at her wrists, letting her slide one hand free. He doesn’t remove it completely though, leaves it tied to one wrist, “just in case we need it again.” Then he’s unhooking her bra and it’s falling to the floor at her feet, and he’s kissing down her spine as he pushes her underwear down the length of her legs so she can step out of them. All she’s wearing now is his tie, hanging from one wrist, and the shape of his mouth on her shoulder.

He walks her into the bedroom, towards the bed – and bursts out laughing.

“What happened in here? I thought I was the messy one.”

She looks across at the closet and sighs. She didn’t close the door properly and the heap of clothing has tumbled out across the floor.

“Are you hiding a dead body under there?” Patrick laughs again.

“It’ll be _your_ dead body if you don’t shut the hell up!” Robyn tells him, turning to face him.

Patrick stops laughing and makes a strange sound in the back of his throat. _Oh,_ Robyn thinks, _now who has the power?_ She does a slow turn on the spot, letting him fully appreciate every inch of her, before standing with her back to him again and looking at him over her shoulder. Robyn has never been majorly confident about her body, but since hiatus she’s learned to love herself more than she did previously. Besides, she knows that Patrick finds her attractive and wants to fuck her so she’s past being shy. And if he still wants to play the teasing game...

She turns to face him again and enjoys the thrill of his eyes on her, that darkness there again, his breath coming fast and unsteady.

“Jesus fucking _Christ,_ your body.” He whispers, and it takes Robyn a second to work out what that note is in his voice. It’s not lust – she knows how _that_ sounds by now. It’s…awe. Patrick is awestruck. This is too much power. She needs to give some back, somehow. She can’t handle Patrick thinking of her like that. She’s not worthy of that level of adoration from someone like him.

“Seriously though.” Patrick goes on, unaware of how overwhelmed Robyn is feeling. “Christ, 'Byn, you’re out of this world sexy. How are you single?”  


“Stop.” Robyn says. “You’re making me self-conscious. And anyway, speaking of bodies, am I ever getting to see yours, or are you keeping your clothes on throughout?”

Now Patrick, the very same guy who has already today got his dick out in a public place, sent a picture of said dick, jerked off over FaceTime, and behaved in an incredibly indecent manner in Robyn's own hallway, reverts to his usual awkwardness and self-deprecation. He twists his hand in the bottom of his t-shirt, oblivious to the fact that his jeans are still unbuttoned and the movement just exposes his lower stomach and that line of dark hair again – Robyn experiences a shot of pure lust at this. Then she mentally kicks herself for putting him so on the spot.

“Yeah…well…I guess I’ll get undressed.” Patrick mutters, but he’s not meeting her eye. He scratches his sideburn and Robyn has a flashback of him at 19, owning a stage – as he still does, every single time – in a trucker cap and long hair. A photo shoot around that time involving water guns had ended with all of them stripped to underwear apart from Patrick who had staunchly refused to remove his t-shirt. Even Robyn had been down to a crop top and the shorts that she favoured during that period. None of the band had tried to persuade Patrick to take the t-shirt off – they knew his reasons and respected them – but the photographer had complained about ‘aesthetics’ and ‘ruining the pictures’ until Joe had told him to back the fuck off and shut the fuck up. After that Pete took his shirt off more and more for pictures, turning the focus his way and giving Patrick some privacy.

“Patrick.” She says his name softly, waits for him to lift his eyes to hers. The anxiety and discomfort there hurt Robyn and she tries to think how she can make him feel better about himself. “Ok. So. My body?” She points to the sides of her boobs. “Stretch marks. I could probably use some oil or whatever, but meh. Cellulite.” She indicates the area on her thighs. “Big fucking deal. This?” She twists and shows Patrick her upper shoulder. “Birthmark. Does any of this matter to you? It’s always been there. When we were kids I was all skinny and pointy. Now I’m kind of fleshy in some places but you obviously like me.”

“Are you kidding me?” Patrick asks. “I don’t give a shit about any of that.” Robyn gives him a pointed look. “I just…I lost all that weight for Soul Punk and now some of it’s coming back and I feel like I wasted my time and I’m back where I was. Who the hell wants this?” He waves his hands at himself in frustration.

“ _I_ do!” Robyn cries. “And if you’d stop being so afraid of the internet you’d see that a lot of other people do too. And they always have. Do you know what my favourite mark is on my body right now?” Patrick shakes his head. Robyn puts her hand to the red bite-mark he’s given her. “This. Because it came from this guy that I’m crazy about, who is doing things to my insides and has been doing those things for as long as I’ve known him. And it’s never mattered to me what he looks like because it’s _him_ that does it. And we’re about to have sex and I’m totally naked and I’ll completely understand if he doesn’t want to take his clothes off, I really will, but I wish he knew how much he turns me on and how there is absolutely nothing about him or his body that could make me change my mind. I love how confident you’ve been so far today, even if it’s just an act. Maybe if you keep channelling _that guy_ , you’ll start to believe him.”

“You just want me cos I’m _packing_.” Patrick says, after a moment, smiling again and raising his eyebrows. Robyn laughs.

“Absolutely.” She replies. “And if you don’t do something with it pretty soon I’m calling the cops.”

Patrick laughs out loud at this remark then, acting on impulse – which is out of character for him but hey, he’s having a day of it so why the hell not? – pulls his t-shirt over his head and throws it to one side.

“Hell _yes_.” Robyn murmurs, her gaze softening as she takes in Patrick's body. She can see that he’s struggling not to cover himself with his arms so she decides to distract him. She backs up to the bed and sits on the edge of it, crossing her legs at the knee and leaning back on her hands. Patrick makes that sound in the back of his throat again and his fingers twitch at his sides. He takes a step towards her and Robyn sits up, holds up a hand, palm up, in front of her.

“Uh-uh.” She says. “Now _you_ want to touch?” She lifts her other hand, with the tie still on her wrist. “Do I need to tie _your_ hands behind your back, Mr Stump?”

A new look comes into his eyes and Robyn's heart beats faster. (She’ll see the look again in a few months from now when they start filming videos for the Youngblood Chronicles and Patrick goes rogue, but for now it’s brand new.) She wonders if he’s going to take control again – the look certainly indicates that he wants to – and she’s aching for him to, but she also wants to see how long she can make him wait.

“Good girls get rewards, Patrick.” She reminds him. “And I’ve been good. I’m almost ready for my reward. But first…”

She lets her fingers dance across her skin, starting at her neck and working her way down, across her shoulders, her upper chest, the underside of her breasts, then around her nipples, sighing as she lingers there, her eyes half-closing. She senses Patrick moving towards her and snaps her eyes open. He stops still, but he’s definitely closer than he was before. “Is this where you want to touch me?” she asks him, then her fingers skim down across her stomach and she lies back, parting her legs and dipping her hand between them. She doesn’t think she’s ever been this wet in her life, or so sensitive. She strokes slowly, her back arching off the mattress, her breathing slow and uneven. When Patrick moves this time, she doesn’t stop him. The mattress dips beneath her as he presses one knee down beside her. She opens her eyes and looks up into his.

When his hand moves between her thighs she gasps in anticipation, but he merely lifts her hand away then reaches for the other one. He keeps his eyes locked on hers as he binds her wrists again, this time in front of her body, then lifts them over her head.

“Be thankful I’m not tying you down.” He says, that authoritative tone in his voice once more. “You _have_ been a good girl, but now you’re being bad, teasing me like that. I might make you wait a little longer.”

“Oh, fuck, Patrick.” Robyn breathes. He’s driving her insane. But she complies when he tells her to keep her hands where they are.

Then he’s all hands and mouth, seemingly everywhere all at once, and Robyn swears she goes blind. His fingers have always been a huge distraction – long and supple, true musician’s digits – and there have been times, on stage and in rehearsal, where Robyn has had to force herself to concentrate on what she’s doing when she’s happened to look Patrick's way as he plays. And now they’re on her body, stroking and caressing her, teasing her nipples and pinching them gently. When his hand slips lower, his mouth takes over and he bites at her nipples, first one then the other, his tongue swirling around and his lips sucking them in. His fingers, meanwhile, are sliding inside her, two of them, his thumb circling her clit, firm and sure. He searches out her g-spot, finds it and rubs it with his middle finger. Yeah, she’s definitely losing her vision. Either that or she’s developed some kind of power where she actually sees stars. She’s heard and read about women experiencing this but always assumed it was nonsense, just romanticised sex, but here she is.

When she first lay back, the bedsheets were cool under her but now they’re damp with her sweat as she writhes under Patrick's practiced touch. He obviously knows what he’s doing – more than that, he _cares_ about what he’s doing. This is a man who has spent his adult years learning how to please a woman and now Robyn gets to reap the benefits. When his mouth leaves her nipples, aching and hard, and travels down her body Robyn is conflicted – she immediately misses where his mouth _was_ but is also excited at where it _will be_.

He continues to tease her, kissing across her stomach, biting her softly on her hips, licking the inside of her thighs, but avoiding the area that’s screaming for his mouth. He can feel her thighs trembling as he licks closer, can feel how tense her whole body is. His fingers are still inside her, his thumb still making slow circles – he’s got her on a knife’s edge, balanced and ready to fall, and he’s getting such a kick out of keeping her there that he wants to drag it out for as long as he can.

“Patrick, _please_.” The words come out of her in a whimper and Patrick shows mercy.

He moves his thumb aside and places his mouth there instead, flicking his tongue once, twice, then delivering a long, hot lick. Robyn bucks underneath him, her hips snapping up off the bed. Patrick uses his free hand to hold her in place and drags his lower lip up and over her clit.

That’s all it takes. He had her primed and ready to go and that’s the final push she needs. Her back arches again and Patrick feels the orgasm running through her as she tightens around his fingers. He continues to use his mouth on her as she climbs up to a peak, and matches the rhythm of his fingers to the rhythm of her pulsing as she descends back down.

Robyn comes back to herself. Patrick is sitting up next to her, his hand resting on her thigh and a pleased smile on his face. Boy’s done good and he knows it. Robyn wants to tell him how great he made her feel, how high she flew, how she’s never experienced anything like that before. She can barely find the strength to speak. She knows, from the expression on his face, that she really doesn’t have to. Her body did all the talking and told him everything he needed to know.

“Can I, now?” She manages, bringing her hands down in front of her and brushing her fingers against the front of his jeans. She wonders how he’s managed to hold out for so long. He must be ready to burst by now.

“I hope not.” He says, making her realise she’s spoken out loud. “That would be embarrassing. I’m 28, not 15. I would hope by now I have some staying power.”

Robyn sits up and pushes Patrick down onto his back. It’s difficult to manoeuvre his jeans down with her hands still tied together and him on his back but they manage it, with little help from him aside from him lifting his ass when Robyn wrestles the material out from under him. He actually puts one hand behind his head and grins at her when she grumbles about doing all the work, the other reaching down to catch her under the chin with his fingers, tilting her face up towards him.

“Sweetheart, do you want your reward or not?” he asks, a cheeky glint in his eye. Oh, God, Robyn is in pieces over him. All these different sides to him and she wants more of all of them.

She unlaces his boots and pulls them off with his socks, throwing them over her shoulder, then pulls his jeans inside out as she peels them down his legs. This would have been so much easier ten or even five years ago, when they were all still in their loose jeans. She leaves them in a puddle at his feet then climbs back onto the bed and straddles his thighs, looking down at his shorts. They’re pulled extremely tight across his cock – nothing is left to the imagination and Robyn finds herself once again confronted with the reality of what Patrick keeps in his pants.

“Holy God.” She murmurs. “You know earlier when you said it was huge and then _I_ said it was huge? I didn’t know we meant _actually_ huge.”

Patrick manages to look both delighted with the compliment and self-conscious at the attention. He doesn’t make any adjustments to his shorts though.

“This…isn’t news to you though.” He points out. “We’ve been skirting around this for years.”

“Honey, there’s no skirting around _this_.” Robyn runs the tip of one finger along the length of him through the cotton. He twitches under her touch and Robyn's eyes widen momentarily at the thrill of what she’s doing to him. Patrick struggles up onto his elbows to watch what she’s doing, his lip bitten again and his eyebrows concentrated. Robyn grasps him through the material and places her thumb against the tip, pressing the cotton down and feeling wetness instantly soak through. She wraps her hand around him, as much as she can with him still being contained as he is. “God.” She whispers again. “I mean, I knew, Patrick, but I didn’t really _know_ , y’know?”

“Uh, I’m kinda having trouble knowing anything at the moment.” Patrick replies, his voice slightly slurred. “Could you…I don’t know…” his head tips back and he groans as Robyn squeezes him carefully. “Jesus…fuck…these have _got_ to come off, ok?” and he’s shucking his way out of the shorts, Robyn lifting up onto her knees so he can push them down his shins and kick them off altogether.

Robyn stares, something she feels like she’s spent an entire lifetime doing where Patrick is concerned. It was one thing to see him… _it_ …through her phone screen, but that was a small screen and this…this is real and right in front of her. She’d sat back on his thighs when he took off his shorts but now she reaches for him again, one of her bound hands circling him, the other, with a little clever manipulation of the tie, sliding between his legs to gently caress his balls. Her head swims. He’s thick and hot and hard and she wasn’t prepared, no matter how much she thought she was.

“Hey.” Patrick's voice is scratchy. She lifts shocked eyes to his. “It’s ok, if you don’t want to. You wouldn’t be the first. At least it’s not _that_ much of a surprise for you, right? I’ve had women kind of back-pedal into their clothes and out of the door just because they can’t get over a guy like me having a dick like that. Not that I’ve had a lot of women. I just mean-“

“Shut up.” Robyn tells him and makes him do so by rubbing the palm of her hand over the top of his cock and coating it in sticky pre-cum, then grasping him again and working him slowly. Patrick falls onto his back, groaning even louder. “You don’t know how much I want to.” She moves higher up his thighs, lifting and positioning herself. “But I’ve never been with someone like you.” _In every sense_. “So, let me work this out.”

“Wait!” Patrick raises himself up again. “Are we not…should we use a condom?”

“Are you clean?” she asks him. He nods. “So’m I. And very protected against…the other thing.” _Babies. Patrick's babies. Oh God_. “Are we good?” Patrick nods again, his elbow slipping out from under him, depositing him flat against the mattress again. He keeps his eyes on Robyn's face as she slowly lowers herself onto him but she can see his eyes are unfocused and he gasps her name as she sinks down inch by inch.

She rides him agonisingly slowly, at first, both of them conscious of this being a first for her, but it doesn’t take long to find a rhythm and speed that works. Initially Robyn controls the pace and depth, her hands braced against Patrick's chest and her hips rotating more than anything else. Patrick watches a flush creep up her chest and neck, feels her getting tighter around him and hears her breathing quicken.

“Robyn.” He moans. She looks into his face. “I’m not gonna last.” She smiles at him.

“Wasn’t expecting you to.” She replies, then leans down into him and kisses him as her second orgasm tears through her.

Patrick takes over, thrusting up into her, his hands once more at her hips as they were in the hallway. She buries her face against his neck as he tips over and listens to the sound of her name being issued in a broken cry.

There’s silence in the room for a minute or two, then Patrick carefully rolls them both so they’re facing each other with him between her legs, still inside her. Robyn lifts her hands to his face and Patrick breathes with relief at the look in her eyes. Robyn's heart soars at the smile that spreads across Patrick's face and he turns his head to press a kiss into her palm.

“You wanna stay for dinner?” she asks him. “Not that I have anything to offer, but…take out?”

“I don’t know.” Patrick shrugs, feigns indifference, sees Robyn's face fall a little. He grins, putting her out of her misery. “It depends.”

“On what?” Robyn asks, unable to stop staring into Patrick's eyes while they’re so close.

 “What’s for desert?”

Robyn gives his shoulder a playful shove. Desert turns out to be served much earlier than the main course and is utterly delicious.


	4. Why Can You Read Me Like No One Else?

New Year’s Eve 2003

“I’m fucking _freezing_ , man!” Robyn has both her own and Pete's sleeping bag wrapped around her as she huddles in the back of the van with Patrick. Joe is snoring lightly, burrowed way down into his own bedding, only the very top of his curly head showing. Patrick, who is likewise bundled inside two sleeping bags, is alarmed that he can see Robyn's breath – _that’s_ how cold it is. He doesn’t know how Joe is managing to sleep but envies him and wishes he could do the same. His teeth are chattering and he can only feel his toes if he wiggles them inside his ratty sneakers, despite having three pairs of socks on.

“Yeah, it blows to be underage.” He commiserates. Even worse, although neither of them says it, is being underage and _looking_ underage. It was humiliating to be turned away at the door of the bar, and Patrick is pissed at Pete and Andy for going inside anyway and leaving their three younger bandmates out in the cold – literally. The fact that Pete has somehow managed to smuggle out three bottles of beer for each of them doesn’t undo the fact that they’re still freezing their asses off in a deserted car park. “And, like, are we seriously expected to wait half the night for them? Some New Year’s this is. New York on New Year’s and we’re not even in Times Square to see the ball drop. This sucks balls.”

“Big time.” Robyn agrees. She scooches closer to Patrick, to share body warmth, leaning against the back of the front seats. The only light in the van comes from a streetlight across the parking lot and it reflects in Patrick's glasses. Robyn rests her head on Patrick's shoulder and sighs sleepily. “How long ‘til midnight?”

Patrick checks his watch.

“Three minutes, give or take.” He tells her, tipping his own head so his cheek presses to her hair. He yawns loudly, jaw cracking. “Hey, shall we make a stupid New Year pact?”

“Sure. In the absence of Pete, I’m down with stupidity. Hit me.” Robyn mirrors Patrick's yawn.

“Ok, so ten years from now, if we’re both single, you and me get it together.” Patrick knows he’s drunk, and he knows that Robyn is drunk, and they both know that this is just drunk nonsense that neither of them mean because no way will either of them still be single in ten years. They’ll be, like, _adults_ then, and probably famous and successful and rich – according to Pete, at least. Patrick doesn’t see any of that happening, but it’s a nice fantasy when you’re stuck in a beat-up van, thousands of miles from home, wearing clothes that need washing and everyone smells just a little bit funky. And besides, he can’t imagine anything better than being with Robyn in ten years’ time, whether they’re rich and famous or not – a little house in the suburbs, a dog, maybe a kid or two? That would suit him just fine, he thinks.

“Sounds like a plan, my man.” Robyn says. “Do we need to shake on it or something, cos honestly, I don’t want to take my hands out from under here right now.”

Before Patrick can answer in the negative – because his hands are warm under his layers too – fireworks start to go off somewhere over the city and they both turn their heads to the window on Robyn's side. Robyn watches for a minute or two, then turns back to Patrick and presses a kiss to his icy cheek.

“Happy New Year, ‘Trick.” she says. “I’m gonna hold you to the ten years thing.”

“Cool.” Patrick smiles. He hopes she does.

_New Year’s Eve 2013_

Patrick is bewildered. He stands at the bar, holding a glass of a very fine whiskey – he doesn’t want to think about how much it cost, even though he knows damn well he can afford it – and wearing a suit that was actually tailored to fit, rather than off the rack in a generic shop. Money is very much _not_ an issue these days, especially at the tail-end of 2013 when the band has had a phenomenally successful comeback album and the tour has pretty much sold out. He’s at a very swanky party in a very upmarket hotel and is talking to a woman who is completely out of his league – did Pete say she’s an actual Victoria’s Secret model, or did Patrick imagine that part? – and he’s not good at this stuff but he thinks she might be into him. She’s touching his arm a lot, and laughing at his jokes, and hasn’t rolled her eyes at his nerdy references once – although Patrick thinks that might be because she doesn’t understand his nerdy references.

But she’s not Robyn. Who Patrick thinks is even more out of his league than the woman in front of him. More beautiful, too. And Patrick thinks he’s completely fucked things up with Robyn, somehow. He just doesn’t understand what’s happened, and without knowing what he’s done wrong he can’t make things right.

It’s been five months. Five months of sneaking around and secret meet-ups. Five months of keeping it all hush-hush, not just from the world at large but from their nearest and dearest. Even though Pete had figured them out at the meeting, back in July, they’d decided to throw him off the scent while they figured out what this was between them, and Patrick had told him that they’d agreed it was a bad idea and that nothing had actually happened. _That_ had been a bad idea - Pete had been both disbelieving and disappointed and had shown this by trying to set Patrick up with as many women as he could find, all of which Patrick had to find reasons not to date. Tonight was no different. Pete had called Patrick earlier in the evening to tell him he had the perfect woman for him to meet at the party…

“Sure, Pete.” Patrick cradled his cell between his cheek and his shoulder, freeing up his hands to fasten his cufflinks. He could hear Robyn humming to herself in the bathroom as she put on her make-up, the door slightly ajar. From where he was sitting on the edge of the hotel-room bed he could just see her and his eyes automatically moved in her direction as Pete used the word ‘beautiful’. “Beautiful, right. Let me guess, she’s smart too?” Patrick laughed at Pete's indignant sound at the other end. “They always are, dude. Look, I gotta go. I need to finish up here. I’m picking Robyn up on-route so I’d better get dressed.”

He ended the call and looked up as Robyn stepped out of the bathroom.

“You like?” Robyn struck an overly dramatic pose in the doorway and tossed her hair back over her shoulder, one hand on her hip. Patrick grinned and raised one shoulder.

“Little bit.” He said indifferently. Robyn laughed.

“A little bit?” She asked. “That much?”

She crossed the room to him and slid onto his lap, straddling him. The short skirt of her dress rode up her thighs and Patrick's hands moved to her hips, tugging her closer without thinking.

“Oh, _that_ much.” Robyn murmured pressing down onto him and getting the physical response she was looking for. “Yeah, I see.” She pushed down a little more and Patrick breathed out heavily.

“You want to quit that?” He said. “You just spent like an hour and a half making yourself look this good and I could make a total mess of you in no time.”

“Hold that thought for later, tiger.” Robyn stood up again and moved to the dresser to put in her earrings. “Did you just lie to your best friend, by the way?”

“Yeah, because _that’s_ new and hasn’t been happening since the summer.” Patrick rubbed his hands across his face, then sighed “he has another woman he wants me to meet tonight.”

“Oh.” Robyn's hands stilled. Patrick, rubbing at his eyes now, didn’t see the change in body language and definitely didn’t pick up the note in Robyn's voice. “Well, he’s nothing if not persistent.”

“We could just tell him.” Patrick suggested, dropping his hands to his lap and catching Robyn's eye in the mirror.

“Sure, and have him ordain himself online tonight and try and officiate our wedding tomorrow.”

“Pretty certain Pete's already ordained. I think he wanted to officiate his own wedding but Ashlee said no.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest.” Robyn paused, then tried for casual. “So…this woman?”

“I think he said she’s a model.” Patrick shrugged, aiming for nonchalant himself. “I’ll just do what I always do – talk to her for a little while, be polite, show zero interest.”

Robyn's insides were churning.

“I mean…whatever.” She said, shrugging herself. “It’s your call.” She slipped her feet into her shoes and stood up. “Ready?”

There was an atmosphere in the cab, a distance that had never been there before, and the physical space between them seemed a mile wide. Robyn looked out of her window and they barely spoke during the twenty-minute journey. Once they arrived at the party, Pete immediately grabbed Patrick by the arm and dragged him away from Robyn. Patrick threw an apologetic look over his shoulder and Robyn found herself alone…

And now she’s sitting on a bar stool, at a small table, covertly watching Patrick and The Model – Tahlia, of _course_ she’s called Tahlia, it’s Cosmo all over again – and Patrick is being charming and funny and heartbreakingly-handsome because he’s incapable of not being all of those things, and Robyn is wondering how long it’s going to be before she’s on bridesmaid duty again. Only this time, Patrick won’t be telling her how beautiful she is because he’ll be too besotted with fucking _Tahlia,_ who will obviously be stunning in a white gown.

When she went into the bathroom to do her hair and make-up earlier in the evening, Patrick had still been in his jeans and t-shirt. Coming back into the room when she was more or less ready, she’d had to play it silly because Patrick had been sitting on the bed, dressed for the party, and something in Robyn's brain had popped at the sight of him. Now she sips her drink and looks at him from the corner of her eye as she half-listens to Joe and Pete arguing about amps. He’s all in black – suit jacket and pants, shirt and bow tie, and he has one of his now-customary fedoras on his head, and if she wasn’t feeling so down, Robyn would be thinking about all the things she wants to do with Patrick later on. She’s attracted to him whatever he’s wearing, but something about him dressed up like this brings out the feral side of her. And she’s clearly not the only one who feels that way, looking at Tahlia. They’re probably going to kiss at midnight. Robyn feels sick. She turns away and rests her chin on her fists, one on top of the other, on the table in front of her.

Across the room, Patrick – who hasn’t lost sight of Robyn once in the time he’s been standing at the bar and has been waiting for the least possible amount of time before it’s polite for him to make his excuses – sees the dejected way Robyn has turned her back on him and something twists inside him. _Now_ , he decides. _Fuck appropriateness, just this once. Be polite, sure, but don’t worry about hurting a stranger’s feelings over hurting Robyn's feelings. Priorities, dude._

“Hey, I’m really sorry.” Patrick cuts into the middle of Tahlia’s sentence. “I’m…with someone. And I feel like I should _be_ with them.” He wouldn’t normally be this rude and he’s amazed at himself for doing it. Tahlia blinks at him in surprise.

“Oh, Pete said you were single.” She says.

“Sorry, not.” Patrick replies. “Pete doesn’t know.” _But it’s time he did._ “It was really nice talking to you though.”

And he actually puts out a hand to shake, which Tahlia, in confusion, does. Now Patrick feels he’s allowed to walk away and across to Robyn, who sits up as he approaches.

“The _fuck_ , man?” Pete hisses. “She was a _lingerie_ model. What’s wrong with you?”

“Yeah, no.” Patrick shakes his head. “I just…no, Pete. Please stop trying to set me up.” Before Pete can answer, Patrick turns to Robyn. “Can I speak to you, privately?”. He grabs his leather jacket from the back of Pete's chair.

“Like _she_ can help.” Pete mutters, as Patrick and Robyn head outside onto the terrace. Where it’s absolutely glacial.

“Oh, my God.” Robyn's breath is a white cloud in front of her face. “It’s so cold!”

“Remember the part yesterday where I said to bring a jacket, at least?” Patrick reminds her, even as he’s putting his own jacket around her bare shoulders. He’s wearing long sleeves, Robyn has a strapless dress on and Patrick can’t stand the thought of her being uncomfortable, even for a second.

“Remember the part where I said I don’t have a jacket to go with this dress?” Robyn tugs _his_ jacket closer around her.

“Remember when I reminded you that we were going home to Chicago, in December, and it gets a little chilly here?” Patrick smiles, enjoying how good his jacket looks on Robyn and knowing he’ll be able to smell her perfume mixed with his cologne when he next wears it.

“Remember when I broke up with you for being a smartass?” Robyn turns her face into the collar of the jacket, the leather worn soft from Patrick's constant wearing of it recently, and breathes in the smell of him, her eyes closing as she does so. “I might keep this.” She murmurs. “So now I have a jacket.” She opens her eyes and smiles at Patrick, who suddenly struggles to form a sentence.

“Yeah…you should…I mean, it looks great and…are you mad at me?”

“No.” Robyn protests too strongly. “Why would I be mad? You can flirt with all the hot models you like. As if I care.” Then she’s trying to shrug the jacket off and shove it back at him again. Now Patrick is pulling it around her once more, and she’s avoiding making eye contact.

“Are you _jealous_?” Patrick asks, his brain refusing to believe it. “Of _her_?” He points back in the direction of the bar.

“Of all of them, jackass.” Robyn bites, her temper starting to flare. “This has been my whole life with you, watching you with other women and-“

Patrick kisses her. He can’t think of anything to say that his mouth can’t say better, so he fists his hands into the jacket and pulls her to him, bringing their mouths together and feeling the anger leave her body as she relaxes into him. If nothing else it warms her mouth up. Patrick doesn’t know if her lips are trembling from the cold or because of him but this close her eyes are huge and round and he wants to lose himself in them forever.

“Jackass.” Robyn repeats the word in a whisper against his mouth but there’s no bite to it now.

“You heard me.” Patrick tells her, his lips brushing hers as he speaks, kind of kissing, kind of not. “I told Pete no more. You, 'Byn. Just you. Whether we tell them or not.”

“I have a better idea.” Robyn tilts her head slightly, bites Patrick's lower lip softly. “Fuck, your _mouth_ , ‘Trick. For real.” She shakes her head a little, tries to focus, which amuses Patrick. “You could tell them you’re gay.”

Patrick laughs and nods, then kisses her again. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he fishes it out without removing his mouth from Robyn's, planning on silencing it and putting it away again, but she takes it out of his hand and breaks the kiss to look at the screen.

“Party blows. Want to eat?” Robyn reads. She holds the phone up for Patrick to see that the message is from Pete. “He has talked this party up for _three months_ and now he wants to leave? How much do you want to bet he wants to go to Taco Bell?”

“I’d put my studio on that.” Patrick takes the phone back and taps out a quick reply. “I’m telling him ‘no’, we’re leaving.” He looks at Robyn, pausing before hitting ‘send’. “Or…did you want shitty Mexican food?”

“I mean…now that you’ve said it?” Robyn makes an extremely cute ‘sorry’ face. Patrick is powerless.

They go for shitty Mexican food.

*****

Robyn grabs a seat next to Patrick, across from Pete and Joe, with Andy on Joe's other side, and she eats with one hand, slipping the other under the table. Patrick has undone his bow tie, which now hangs loose around his neck, and undone his top shirt button, and Robyn has been thinking seriously wicked thoughts about him since she watched his dexterous digits make short work of both the tie – she’d bitten back the sound she wanted to make when he yanked the two sections apart – and the buttons. She knew that he was aware of how he was affecting her too – there had been a grin and sassy wink aimed her way when no one else was looking. He wants to play? She can play.

At first, she just rubs the backs of her fingers against the outside of Patrick's thigh, not intending to do anything more, and when he reaches down and holds her hand briefly she smiles to herself. But then something Pete says makes Patrick laugh, bright and full, his whole body convulsing with it and Robyn's breath is once again stolen from her at how utterly and completely stunning he is.

She has sudden, animal urges, remembers biting his lip earlier, remembers stolen moments together in recent months, in dressing rooms, at Pete’s house during a barbecue, at a Cubs game, at a Good Morning America recording. She thinks about all the times Patrick has had his mouth on her, his hands, his fingers. And her hand is on his thigh, fingers stroking up the inside now. She doesn’t even look at him, carries on her conversation with Joe as if nothing is happening out of sight, commiserates with Andy at the limp lettuce and hopefully-vegan taco shell he’s wound up with.

Patrick continues conversing with Pete. But he’s gone very still in his seat now, his back straight. Robyn wonders, idly, if he’s going to remove her hand from his leg. He doesn’t. She strokes higher. She can feel him holding his breath, so she moves her hand to his knee instead and rests it there.

Patrick takes a bite of his taco. Robyn moves her hand quickly and squeezes gently.

Patrick's knee hits the underside of the table so hard that condiment bottles topple over and drinks spill, and he chokes on his food. Robyn pulls her hand back to her lap, turns her head to look at him, her face a picture of innocence and concern.

“Hey, are you ok, ‘Trick?” she asks him, full of worry. She hands him his water, watches him take a swallow, enjoys the view of his head tipped back, the muscles in his throat working. “Maybe chew your food a little, huh?”

“Yeah.” Patrick coughs out the word, glaring Robyn's way, but she can see there’s amusement in it. And she knows payback will be coming. She hopes so, anyway.

She risks a glance down into Patrick's lap, likes what she sees, then leans into him to rub his back.

“Poor guy.” She sympathises. “Spice isn’t for everyone.”

“I’m all about the spice.” Patrick tells her, sotto voice, and if she had food in _her_ mouth right now she’d be spraying it all over the table. There’s a hint of…something in Patrick's eye and Robyn is suddenly desperate to be alone with him.

“Get a room.” Pete grumbles, and throws some torn-up tortilla at them. “To listen to you guys sometimes you’d swear you were sleeping together.” His eyes light up. “Are you?”

“Yeah, Pete, we’re having super-secret insanely hot sex.” Patrick replies, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “Remind me to give you _all_ the details tomorrow.”

“Kind of negates the whole ‘secret’ part.” Joe points out. “And please, spare me _any_ of the details.”

Patrick has a new look on his face, as if he’s on the brink of saying something important. He even gets are far as opening his mouth – Robyn now holds her own breath, wondering what’s about to come from those golden vocal chords this time.

“Fireworks!” Pete almost tips his chair over as he jumps up and heads for the door and outside. Patrick sighs and shakes his head wearily – they all know New Year’s Eve, or any kind of holiday, spent with Pete is like spending it with a small child. They troop outside to watch the display in the distance, knowing the fireworks are being launched over the Hudson.

“Happy New Year!” Pete has both fists in the air as he yells triumphantly, as if he somehow made this happen personally.

Patrick doesn’t care anymore. Lately he’s been stepping outside his comfort zone more and more, starting with what would probably classed as public indecency back in July. Compared to that, this is nothing. He moves closer to Robyn and takes her hand again. She turns her gaze away from the fireworks to look at him and he knows he’s right.

“Happy New Year.” He says quietly, knowing only she can hear him. He waits for her go-ahead, the smallest smile and the tiniest of nods, before he kisses her. It’s not a ‘we’re-just-friends-wishing-one-another-Happy New-Year’ kind of kiss. It’s a real, passionate, full, ‘we’re-so-much-more-than-friends’ kiss. Robyn's arms come up around Patrick's neck and he holds her tightly to him, neither of them caring that the other three are gaping at them.

“I KNEW it!” Pete points an accusing finger. “Didn’t I say?” He asks Andy and Joe.

“No.” Andy replies. “You absolutely did not.”

“You knew nothing, Wentz.” Patrick says when he finally comes up for air. “Anyway, _now_ you all know.”

Hugs and kisses are shared all around, for New Year’s, and then _more_ hugs are shared in honour of the new relationship, with Joe telling Robyn he’s expecting ‘the pertinent but not explicit details’ in the next few days. Then they’re all making plans to go their separate ways for the night.

“Except you guys.” Pete gloats, grinning his biggest grin at Patrick and Robyn. “You’re going home together, right?”

“Uh-huh.” Patrick grins back, happy to be finally sharing this with his best friend. “Because as great as she looks _in_ that dress, I can’t wait to get her _out_ of it.” He laughs as Robyn elbows him.

“Aren’t you staying at his Mom’s?” Pete asks Robyn, who shakes her head.

“I have a room at the Sheraton.” She answers. “We haven’t told Patricia yet and she’d only put us in separate rooms.”

“Good chance she’ll do that when she knows, too.” Patrick can’t stop smiling. He has an arm tight around Robyn's waist and is positively itching to get her away from everyone. He suddenly remembers something.

“Shit! I have to make a call.” He walks away, phone in hand, then comes back to put his jacket around Robyn's shoulders again. She can’t help but looked pleased at the attention, especially knowing she doesn’t have to hide it any longer. Pete impulsively grabs her for another hug.

“I’m so hyped about this.” He says. “When did this start?”

“So…you know that day back in the summer?” Robyn raises her eyebrows.

“But he said nothing happened! Son of a bitch.” Pete laughs. “You’ve kept it secret since then?”

“Yeah, but it was just because we wanted to figure out what it was before we told anyone.”

“And?” Pete pushes. “Does this mean it’s more than ‘super-secret insanely hot sex’? Please tell me the sex is insanely hot! We both know he’s going to tell me nothing about that.”

“The hottest sex you can imagine.” Robyn confides in a low whisper. “Way hotter than anything _you’ve_ ever had.”

“Dude, I’m with an actual model.” Pete informs her. “And I’m Pete Wentz. That’s a combination the world can’t handle.”

“He’s _Patrick Stump_.” Robyn reminds him. Pete goes quiet and looks thoughtful. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. I totally win and you know it.”

“Win what?” Patrick joins them again, puts his arm around Robyn’s waist, presses a kiss to her temple, watches her go an adorable shade of pink, and grins. “Oh, never mind – our ride is here.”

Robyn turns and Patrick knows he’s dropped an obscene amount of money but every cent is worth it for the look on Robyn's face. They’ve ridden in limousines plenty of times over the years – they’re pretty standard for award shows – but hiring a private one is completely different.

Patrick shrugs, as if it’s nothing. Which it kind of is – he booked it as soon as they agreed to the party, months ago, and booking expensive things isn’t that big a deal anymore. If anything, it’s kind of expected – Pete certainly doesn’t hold back on it. Patrick's not a limousine kind of guy, generally, but it’s his first New Year with Robyn and he wanted to pull out a few stops and, just for once, be _that_ guy.

“Too much?” He asks, a little worriedly.

“Nuh-uh.” Robyn reassures him. “How did he know where to pick us up though?”

“That’s who I was calling.” Patrick holds up his phone, then slips it into the inside pocket of his blazer. “He was due to pull up at the hotel at just after twelve. I don’t think he was crazy about having to detour over this way, but I’ll make sure there’s a good tip.”

“That’s what she said!” Pete pulls Patrick in for a final hug goodnight, his own cab – which now looked incredibly boring, plus he’s agreed to share with Joe and Andy – waiting behind the limo. “You kids be good. Actually, screw that – go wild in there. And you.” He points at Patrick. “Call me tomorrow?”

“As ever.” Patrick replies. “Hey, no calling me in half an hour to see how we’re doing, ok?”

“Man, you spoil my fun every time!” Pete complains. Then he’s in the back of the cab and rolling down the window to shout ‘I hope you kids are using protection!” and passers-by are stopping to stare at Patrick and Robyn.

“Why am I so excited about this?” Robyn asks. “And what were you thinking?”

“I was planning on taking you on a tour of the city.” Patrick replies, knowing full well he has no such intention. “I know we both grew up here, but…ok, let me show you.” He takes Robyn by the hand again and leads her to the waiting car, where the driver opens the door for her to slide onto the back seat. Patrick smiles as she exclaims over the champagne-on-ice he ordered, then he has a quick, whispered conversation with the driver, before joining Robyn in the car, the door closing behind him.

“This is…special.” Robyn says, watching Patrick fill two glasses with alcohol.

“New Year’s.” Patrick explains, with a smile. “Hey, remember where we were ten years ago?”

“New York.” Robyn touches her glass to Patrick's, takes a sip, hiccups at the bubbles. “Homesick and freezing. We made a pact.”

“We did.” Patrick's smile broadens. “And here we are.” He raises a knowing eyebrow and Robyn comes to a sudden realisation.

“Is this…are you about to…?” Robyn doesn’t want to finish the question. “Not that I’m assuming!”

“Oh, no.” Patrick shakes his head. Robyn isn’t sure whether she’s relieved or disappointed. She swallows another mouthful of drink to cover her…disappointment, after all. “But that’s coming.”

Robyn chokes on her champagne, much as Patrick did on his taco earlier. Patrick takes the glass from her hand, puts it in the holder with his own, puts on a sympathetic expression.

“Champagne isn’t for everyone.” He says, mimicking her words from the taco incident, his eyes glinting with amusement.

“No, but for real, Patrick.” Robyn says quietly. Patrick's face becomes serious and he takes Robyn's hands. “Are you actually planning to…do that?”

“Propose?” Patrick lifts his eyes to hers. “Definitely. Ten years, after all.”

“It’s been five months.” Robyn tells him. “I’m not saying don’t do it. Because you know I’m going to say yes. But, you need to be sure about something like that.”

“I am sure.” Patrick tells her. He looks confused, as if he’s stating scientific facts. “Because it _hasn’t_ been five months, 'Byn. It’s been five months since we finally got in sync with one another, that’s all. Like I said, just you. Always you.”

“God…” Robyn breathes. “I think you need to give me that tour now.”

“Oh, that?” Patrick shakes his head. “Yeah, that was a lie. I got a limo so we could make out in the back.”

“Pretty confident move. Everyone thinks you’re this innocent, sweet ‘small bean’, whatever that means, but they really have no idea about you.” Robyn says, reaching for the front of his shirt and tugging him towards her. Patrick moves across the seat easily. He smiles, the smile that only Robyn ever gets to see, the one that says he knows something secret, the one that says he has all the power and knows how to use it, the one that says he’s about to take what’s his and nobody had better try and stop him. And, as always when she sees that smile, Robyn feels her insides melt away to nothing.

“Patrick…” she whispers. “You _do_ things to me.”

“I’m _planning_ on doing things to you.” He smirks, but his eyes have gone dark. Robyn wonders how much he means by ‘making out’. He takes his jacket from around her shoulders and is about to put it on the seat opposite when, instead, he lifts it to his face and inhales deeply, his eyes locked on hers. “Much better.” He says, then discards it.

He winds one of her long, blonde curls around two of his fingers, lets it slide free, then pushes her hair back behind her shoulders. He leans back a little, appreciating her.

“I love your hair this length.” He tells her. “So pretty.” He traces his fingertips across her bare shoulders lightly, gentle despite the guitar callouses. “Did you wear this to drive me crazy?” He nods at her dress. “Because it’s working.” He bites his bottom lip and Robyn’s eyes are drawn to the action. She’s definitely with the fans on this one – Patrick biting his lip is undeniably hot. Not that she’s told him about the pictures and gifs of him doing just that circulating online, or the myriad of discussions and outright smut she’s read about it – if Patrick were aware of the effect this had on people, he’d become self-conscious and stop doing it. Although, honestly, there’s a part of Robyn that wonders if he _does_ know and is doing it on purpose.

“God, Patrick.” Robyn hopes she doesn’t sound like she’s whining. That would _not_ be attractive, but she can’t help it – he makes her so needy. She’s already wet and he’s barely touched her. “You’re driving _me_ crazy. How do you do this to me, every time? I _need_ …”

“I know you do, baby girl.” He skims the backs of his knuckles across her collarbone. “But patience, remember? We have a 40-minute drive, not taking traffic into account. We have _so much_ time and I have _so much_ I want to do with you.”

“I need another drink.” Robyn blurts. Patrick nods, pours her another glass of champagne. As she drinks it, her hand shaking uncontrollably, he puts his mouth to her ear.

“I really want to undress you right now.” He tells her quietly. “Actually, now that I’ve said it, I _am_ going to undress you.” Robyn glances at the divider between them and the front of the car. “Don’t worry about that.” Patrick reassures her. “I’ve given him enough money to make sure we’re well and truly ‘not disturbed’. And you won’t be completely naked.” Robyn breathes relief. “Just mostly.” Robyn drops the champagne glass. Luckily, the glass is empty and the carpet is thick and luxurious, so nothing is spilled and nothing is broken.

Robyn gives in, as she always does, and puts herself completely in Patrick's capable hands. If he says not to worry, she’s not going to worry. She twists away from him on the seat, allowing him to ease down the zipper on her dress. His lips press to her shoulder from behind as he slides her dress down her body, waiting as she lifts slightly in order for him to let it fall to the floor around her feet. Then he winds his hand into her hair and tips her head to the side, exposing the length of her neck which he explores with his mouth, taking his time and listening to Robyn's breathing get heavier, with the occasional small moan interspersed with it.

She shudders a little and gasps as Patrick's stubble scrapes down her neck and across her shoulder. Patrick laughs softly and nips at her.

“Hey, I asked you if I should shave.” He whispers. “And you said no. How’s that working out for you?”

“Exactly as I hoped it would.” Robyn replies, her voice carrying a slight tremor. “There was a damn good reason I told you not to and this is it.” She gasps again and her head tips back.

“Oh, really?” Patrick asks. “So, if you get beard rash in places, you’re going to be ok with that?” He moves to the other shoulder, leaving red marks in his wake.

“I’m kind of banking on it.” Robyn breathes. “I’ve been counting down to the colder weather because you always grow some scruff and it gets me going.”

“Yeah?” Patrick says. “If I’d known, I would have grown it sooner.”

“I don’t think I was ready for it until tonight.” Robyn says. “And you can’t keep it for too long or it will lose its power.”

“Well then, we should make the most of it while we can.” Patrick lifts his mouth away from her skin and Robyn wishes he hadn’t. “Turn around for me, baby.”

Robyn faces Patrick, her eyes wide in the dim lighting of the car. Whenever he calls her by pet names her soul sings. (Apart from that one time he called her ‘sugar’ and there was a beat before Robyn, unable to stop herself, had sung the obvious lyrics to one of their most famous songs.) That mouth is made for honey-sweet words and if they’re coming in her direction she’ll take them.

Patrick pushes himself backwards on the seat, away from Robyn, leans back casually against the door. Robyn knows he’s given himself some space so he can get a good look at her but she hates that he’s not touching her. He drinks her in, that bold gleam in his eyes that makes her feel completely exposed as he takes in every inch of her. It’s strange, given some of the videos she made as a solo artist and some of the photoshoots, how she could pose for pictures and be filmed wearing very little and not give it a second thought but just this one man looking at her this way, with unrestrained lust in his heavy-lidded eyes, makes her so completely aware of herself and how she looks.

“Y’know, I wasn’t planning on actually fucking you in here, but I’m not sure I’m going to be able to stop myself.” Patrick's voice has dropped into that deep, throaty growl that lets her know exactly how much he wants her. Robyn's insides take a slow tumble and she shifts in her seat, looking for friction and knowing that it won’t be nearly enough if she finds it.

“Sit still.” Patrick tells her, mildly, and she does. “I know what you’re trying to do.” He shakes his head. “That’s my job. I’m gonna make you feel so good in just a minute, baby, I promise, but let me look at you, ok?” He bites his bottom lip again and Robyn's hands clench into fists in her lap. She aches to touch him.

There’s silence for 10 seconds or so as Robyn tries her very hardest to remain still under Patrick's appreciative gaze, then Patrick breathes out heavily and undoes his cufflinks, slipping them free from the button-holes and putting them in his inside pocket with his phone. His watch joins them. When he’s happy everything is secure, he takes off his suit jacket and folds it carefully over his leather jacket on the opposite seat then rolls his shirt sleeves back, right to his elbows. Robyn watches him, her need momentarily forgotten, mesmerised by his hands as they turn back the material, her eyes flicking back and forth between his fingers and his forearms and wrists, and the tendons working there.

He closes the distance between them again, holds her by the waist and dips his head to her cleavage, kissing his way across the tops of her breasts and breathing her in.

“You smell amazing.” Patrick speaks into her skin. “And I lied.”

“About the tour?” Robyn asks, barely able to formulate coherent sentences. “I know.”

“No.” His breath ghosts across her. “About you being naked.”

“Oh…” Is all Robyn is capable of as Patrick's hands slide around her ribcage and unhook her bra, which he drops to the floor with the puddle of her dress. His hands splay across her back and, somehow, he’s sliding her down and along the seat until she’s on her back, the leather cool against her skin, and he’s kneeling between her thighs. Then his mouth moves lower and his breath makes her nipples harden before he’s using his tongue on them and Robyn is arching up beneath him.

She’s unaware of where his hands have moved to until he says “I hope these weren’t expensive”.

“Wait, what?” Robyn lifts her head and Patrick locks eyes with her, crooks one eyebrow – and _tears_ her underwear from her body. The sound of the material ripping is loud, but Robyn thinks her heartbeat is louder as Patrick bites at her hip and sucks a bruise there. Even louder is the moan that comes from Robyn when Patrick slides two fingers inside her, kissing his way back up her body so he can watch her face as he works into a rhythm with his hand. Robyn's hips move in counterpoint and she comes hard and fast, clenching around Patrick's fingers and moaning his name.

Patrick sits back on his heels and Robyn watches through glazed eyes as he undoes the remaining buttons on his shirt. Her gaze moves lower, fixing on the prominent bulge in his pants. Oh, she _wants_. She licks her top lip, her breathing heavy, and makes eye contact with Patrick again.

“I know I said I wasn’t going to fuck you in here, but I’m really struggling with that.” He tells her, taking her hands and holding them against the seat above her head. “I didn’t intend to go _this_ far, I swear to God.” He presses kisses to her throat again. “But I’m burning for you, Robyn.” He moves one of her hands down, between his legs, where she can caress and gently squeeze him through the soft material of his pants. “I want you so badly it fucking hurts.”

Robyn pulls her other hand free of his and unbuckles his belt, slowly, then pops the button free and slides down the zipper. She takes her time with it, much as she wants to rip his clothes off, because the anticipation is as delicious as the rest of it. She pushes her hand into his shorts and grasps him, thrilling at the way he fills her hand, the hot, hard length of him throbbing against her palm. After swiping her thumb over the head a couple of times, she lifts her hand to her mouth and licks her thumb clean. Patrick groans and presses his sweaty forehead to her chin momentarily, then he’s shoving his pantsand shorts down past his knees, desperate to take her and claim her. Everything else be damned now – he wants to be inside his woman, wants to hear his name on her lips, wants to feel her body responding to him and have her come undone for him.

Robyn pushes his shirt off his shoulders, knowing full well it’s going to get stuck at his elbows where the sleeves are folded tight, but wanting as much of him naked as possible. She needs to feel as much of his bare skin against hers as she can, to feel close to him. She runs her hands across his shoulders, those broad, strong shoulders that she loves so much, then drags her fingernails lightly down his chest, through the hair that gets thicker and darker the lower she goes, the hair that no one sees but her. She pushes herself onto her elbows, licks around one of his nipples, moves across to the other and does the same. Patrick hisses when she bites his upper chest, pushes his hand into her hair to hold her head as she places a mark to match the one he put on her hip.

Then she’s flat on her back again and he’s pushing inside her, making a point of going slowly at first because he wants it to last, wants her to feel as good as he promised her. The fact that he’s already given her one orgasm doesn’t matter to Patrick – it’s not nearly enough. When Robyn lifts her legs, to wrap them around him and tug him closer and deeper, Patrick pulls back a little and runs his hands from ankles to hips, shaking his head.

“Not yet, baby.” He tells her, turning his head and brushing his lips to the inside of her thigh. “Let me take it slow for now.” He moves forward again, pressing into her a fraction at a time. Robyn can’t help herself – she lifts her hips towards him. “Hey.” Patrick's voice is soft but commanding as he stops moving. “You’ve got to learn to wait.”

“Can’t.” Robyn moans. One-word sentences is the most she can cope with now, feeling him so near yet so far away, and looking into those beautiful eyes of his just inches away from her own. “Please.” The last word comes out a broken whisper. Patrick nods, brushes her hair out of her eyes, then lifts her legs so her calves rest on his shoulders, and drives into her.

It’s more sensation than either of them was expecting. Robyn's head tips back on the seat as she cries out, and Patrick groans her name. He looks at her exposed throat, considers putting his mouth there. Instead.

“Open your eyes.” He pleads. “God… _fuck_ …look at me, Robyn. I have to see you. Want you to see me. _Ahh.”_

Robyn looks up at him, then reaches for him, pulling her legs down and hooking them around his hips, twisting her hands into his hair and tugging him down to kiss her. She only keeps him there briefly, then lets him rest his forehead against hers as they both climb towards their orgasms. Robyn knows he’s trying to hold back, waiting for her before he lets go himself, and his consideration for her is what gives her the final nudge she needs.

Patrick sees the change in her eyes and feels it ripping through her, her thighs tensing at his sides. She moans his name, her hands tugging at his hair, and he tips over too, his mouth opening as he gasps his way through it. Robyn, coming down now, watches Patrick's face, thinking that he really shouldn’t be this gorgeous, and that he really shouldn’t be _hers_. But he is, on both counts, and Robyn is aware of just how lucky she is.

She kisses along his jaw, the scruff prickly on her lips, and nips at his earlobe. He snuffles into her neck and she wriggles underneath him, laughing softly at the feeling of his rough facial hair on her sensitive skin. Then she realises.

“Oh shit, Patrick.” He lifts his head to look at her, concerned. “What are we going to clean up with? Unless you ordered supplies for _that_ too?”

“Even better.” He pulls away from her, kneeling up again and reaching for his leather. He fishes around in one of the pockets and comes up with a handful of napkins, most of which he hands to Robyn.

“Did you steal these from Taco Bell?” She laughs, seeing the logo printed on the napkins. Patrick, wiping himself down, grins.

“Listen, I’m a classy guy.” He explains. “I paid for the limo, I got champagne, I bought you flowers.” He winces at the last addition. “Which were meant to be a surprise…” He checks his watch. “We should really get dressed. Unless you want the driver to open the door on us like this?”

Ten minutes later, they’re as close to respectable as they’re going to get with only some cheap fast-food napkins at their disposal. Robyn is commando under her dress, the torn underwear stuffed inside Patrick's pocket, and her hair is a mess, despite the attempt at grooming with her fingers. Patrick is luckier – his hair is short and mostly covered with his hat. But Robyn knows they look like a couple who have enjoyed the limo a little too much – she silently sends a up a prayer thanking whoever might be listening for wipe-clean leather seats.

When the car finally glides to a halt and the door is opened, Patrick alights first, handing a folded bill to the driver, then holds out his hand to Robyn, who leaves the backseat with as much dignity as she can muster. She ignores the knowing look on the driver’s face and thanks him graciously, avoiding using the words ‘the ride’ because…no. When he hands her the huge bouquet of roses he’s been keeping for Patrick in the front of the car she turns away without another word, but sees Patrick's shoulder’s shaking as he laughs silently. She considers hitting him with the flowers but decides they’re too pretty.

“This…is not my hotel.” She says, looking back at Patrick as the car pulls away from the kerb behind him.

“Observant.” Patrick puts his arm around her waist, walks her up the steps to his front door. “You’ll notice this isn’t my Mom’s house either.” He unlocks the door. “As great as your hotel room is, it’s much too far away from me, which would make _you_ much too far away from me if you’d stayed there tonight. I don’t know why you haven’t bought a place here.” He’s turning on lamps in the hall, hanging up his jacket and hat. Robyn closes the front door and locks it from the inside.

“I’m mostly in LA.” She shrugs, letting Patrick take the flowers from her and following him towards the kitchen to put them in water.

“Me too.” Patrick opens cupboards, looking for a vase. Robyn, knowing his Chicago house as well as she knows his LA house, finds the vase first. She doesn’t see the look on Patrick's face when this happens. “I just like having somewhere here I can call home. Don’t you want that?”

“I guess.” Robyn has her back to him as she stands at the sink. “I like that we can stay in nice hotels now, but we sure do stay in a lot of them.”

“Yeah…” Patrick goes for broke and hopes he knows what he’s doing. “If you wanted, you could call _this place_ home.”

Robyn turns to look at him, the flowers discarded on the drainer. Her face is the perfect mixture of shock and delight.

“You want me to move in with you to a house we’d barely live in?” She jokes, but Patrick picks up the unspoken question.

“And maybe to a house we’d live in a lot, in LA.” He suggests, his heart pounding. “I just want you around, y’know?”

“I do know. I want that too.”

“Yeah?” Patrick's face lights up in his biggest smile. “You know what the beauty of _this_ house is, right now?” Robyn shakes her head. Patrick steps towards her, his eyes getting that familiar darkness to them again. “It has a sweet king-size bed. Does that sound appealing?”

“Very.” Robyn answers. “But all my stuff’s back at the hotel. I don’t have anything to wear if this is a sleepover.”

“Guess you’ll have to sleep naked.” Patrick nuzzles her neck. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you get cold.”

The flowers lie unattended until the following morning.


	5. There's Been A Million Before Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who continues to cheer me on behind the scenes. And to everyone leaving kudos and comments so far - I'm glad you're enjoying reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it!

_Valentine’s Day 2003_

“These dances are so lame.” Robyn complains to Joe as he grimaces down into the cup of punch she’s handed him. “I tried to get us this gig, y’know.”

“What happened?” Joe asks. “I mean, we suck, pretty much, but we would have been so much better than those losers.” He nods in the direction of the make-shift stage. “And we would have done it at discount, on account of you and Patrick being almost-alumni.”

“The dance committee asked to hear our demo.” Robyn raises her eyebrows at Joe. “And you can imagine how _that_ went down, with Pete screaming like a goddamn banshee.”

“Yeah but still.” Joe nods more pointedly at the stage now. “ _Flamingo Cocktail_? What does that even mean? And what are they trying to be? At the risk of sounding like your Mom, it’s just _noise_.”

“I hear you, buddy.” Robyn claps Joe on the shoulder. His idea of dressing up means he has worn his second-best pair of Converse and his Incubus t-shirt. Robyn's Mom, thrilled that her daughter was finally going to a dance, and with a _boy_ no less, had insisted on buying Robyn a dress, which Robyn hates with a passion, given that it’s lemon-yellow and she feels like a fucking canary. The boy in question, who has barely been in attendance since arriving with Robyn some half an hour ago, barrels into Robyn from nowhere, his pupils dilated like crazy and in a high state of excitement.

“One of you has to kiss me!” Patrick says, grasping both of them by the arm.

“One of us!” Joe hoots. “Amazing. Is this the kind of shit that goes down at provincial high schools?”

“Snob.” Robyn sneers.

“Peasant.” Joe grins. “Seriously though, my dude.” He speaks to Patrick again. “Why do you need one of _us_ ” – he gestures between himself and Robyn – “to kiss you? Is this for science? Are you checking to see if you’re gay? Do you need _both_ of us to kiss you, so you can test the possible outcomes? Can I see your written notes on this experiment?”

“Why are you such a dick?” Patrick is out-of-control-excited. “I’m trying to make someone jealous, _obviously_.”

“Oh, ‘ _obviously’_ ”. Joe repeats, glancing sideways at Robyn, who suddenly feels less in the mood for jokes. “Cool. Now we’re in some sucky 80s movie. You didn’t answer the ‘gay’ question, so I gotta ask, this ‘someone’ – dude or dudette. Dudina?” He looks to Robyn for help. “You take Spanish – what’s the feminine for ‘dude’?”

“You think ‘dude’ is Spanish?” Robyn asks, her mouth ajar.

“No.” Joe answers. “Maybe? I just thought you could employ some of that ‘la’ business. I don’t know. I don’t take a language.”

“Clearly. You struggle enough with English.” Robyn tells him. “Ow! The hell, ‘Trick?” She wrenches her arm free of Patrick's now pinching grip.

“You’re not helping me!” Patrick shouts through gritted teeth. “Sofia is watching and I want her to think I’m…” he waves his hands helplessly.

“Let’s do this.” Joe says, rolling his shoulders. “Pucker up, Stumph.”

“No!’ Patrick objects. “It can’t be you!”

“You said ‘one of us’.” Joe reminds him. “But I’m guessing you ‘ _obviously_ ’ meant Robyn and you just weren’t being clear because you want to make ‘ _Sofia’_ jealous and think you’re…” he waves his hands around in a parody of Patrick.

“I’ll do it.” Robyn offers, hating herself for it. She knows it’s a terrible idea, but possibly even worse is Patrick punching Joe in the mouth, which looks like a very real possibility. She grabs the front of Patrick's t-shirt and pulls him towards her before she can change her mind.

Ok, it’s not the best kiss, but it’s not the worst she’s had either. Once Patrick gets over his surprise, he relaxes a little, his hands coming to her waist and pulling her a little closer to him. And ok, he’s actually quite confident and competent and Robyn hopes the music drowns out the fact that she just sighed into his mouth. And, oh God, his lips are amazing and his tongue is in her mouth and her hands are on the back of his neck, and – he’s pulling away slightly, making eye contact, looking at Robyn urgently. _He feels it too,_ she thinks.

“Is she looking?” He asks and Robyn's bubble of hope pops. She glances over his shoulder, across the gym to where the pretty Spanish exchange student is standing, watching Patrick. Robyn nods. “You’re the best. Thanks.” He kisses Robyn on the forehead and is gone.

“Ohhhh, you’re _so_ welcome!” Robyn says sarcastically to his retreating back. “Oh, fuck, Joe. This _is_ a sucky 80s movie. I’m Boots!”

“…the monkey?” Joe asks carefully. Robyn stares at him.

“No. Teenwolf, Joe. _Boots_?”

“Teenwolf, right.” Joe does finger-guns at Robyn. “Gonna be honest here. I don’t remember a monkey in that movie. Was that, like, a deleted scene or something?”

“Holy God, Joseph, you’re so fucking special.” Robyn tells him, exasperated. “Your Mom keeps telling my Mom that you’re ‘gifted’. What do you do at your school – eat crayons?”

“I’ll have you know that only _gifted_ people eat the green ones.” Joe puffs out his chest. Robyn realises something and groans.

“You’re stoned.” She says. “Of course you are. Not that you remotely care, but Boots is the best friend, who’s in lo- likes Michael J. Fox in the movie, and he can’t see her as anything more than a friend.”

“Wait!” Joe exclaims. “I _do_ remember that. But he picks her at the end. So, if you’re using the ‘right under your nose the whole time’ analogy, then Patrick is gonna come to his senses and pick you.”

“Yeah, but is my life span the equivalent of the movie? How long am I supposed to wait in reality? What if he never picks me?”

But Joe isn’t listening. He’s looking past Robyn, who turns and follows his line of sight to where Sofia is in Patrick's arms, being very enthusiastically kissed.

“Sucky 80s movie moves work, apparently.” Joe murmurs. Robyn wishes she’d chosen the option where Patrick punched Joe instead.

 

_Valentine’s Day 2013_

“…so, she said ‘we’ve been together almost 3 years and you haven’t made any indication that you want to commit to me’. And, honestly man? I didn’t have an answer for that. At least, not one that wouldn’t hurt her feelings. So, she got her stuff together and left. It took her less than five minutes to pick up everything of hers that she kept at my place, and I was thinking ‘oh, I’m gonna have to collect my stuff from her place’ and I realised I have _nothing_ there. Like, seriously, dude, maybe a toothbrush, but nothing that means anything. And I think that says a lot about how invested I was. Or not.”

Patrick sighs down the line, and Joe hears him flop back into his couch cushions.

“Sucks, dude.” Joe commiserates. “Weird though, cos, like, two years ago you couldn’t wait to settle down with her. I definitely remember you talking about getting married. But you changed your mind at some point _and_ stayed with her? What happened?”

“Wish I knew.” Patrick says. He ignores the insidious little voice whispering in the back of his mind. It’s saying one word, one _name_. He stamps on the voice, willing it to _shut the fuck up_. “Better it ends now though, right?”

“I guess so.” Joe agrees. “You don’t sound too upset about it. Are you ok?”

“Yeah. I don’t want to say it’s a relief, but…”

“You’re way too fucking polite, do you know that?” Joe tells him. “You stayed with someone, knowing it was going nowhere, because you didn’t want to let her down. Did you think if you stuck with politeness, eventually you’d politely marry her and politely impregnate her?”

“Actually, me being polite has hurt her more than I wanted to.” Patrick sighs again. “That was never intentional.”

“Dude, you’ve never intentionally hurt anyone in your life. Apart from Pete. And he deserved every one of those beatings. Speaking of ‘beating’, you realise that now you’re single again you’re essentially back to ‘beating your own drum’, as it were?”

“You’re disgusting.” Patrick laughs. He hears a key in his front door and frowns. “I have to go. I think my Mom’s here. Have a great night with Marie, and tell her I’m available – she might still choose the better man.”

“Hmm. The man who just got dumped for being non-committal over the man who _actually_ married her. I can see how you’d be the sure choice here. Later, dude. Call me if you need anything.”

Patrick puts his phone on the coffee table as the door to his lounge opens and Robyn gives him a huge, happy smile. For reasons Patrick is unwilling to go into right now he is delighted to see her.

“Guess what?” Robyn opens with, taking off her jacket and dropping it over the back of the couch. She sits at the opposite end to Patrick, pulls her knees to her chest.

“You’re not my Mom.” Patrick says.

“Well…no.” Robyn looks confused. “Was that ever something we weren’t sure about?”

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting anyone today and I assumed you were my Mom.” He shakes his head. “What did you want to tell me?”

Robyn pulls a folded sheet of paper from her back pocket and waves it at him excitedly.

“My divorce came through!” She cries, her eyes alight with elation. “That asshole _finally_ stopped fighting and just signed the goddamn papers. He knows he’s not entitled to squat because he cheated. I’m free!”

“That’s amazing!” Patrick is thrilled, knowing how difficult the last two years have been for Robyn in her endless fight for freedom from Cosmo and his quest for half her earnings. Pete has talked, on more than one occasion, about paying Cosmo a quiet visit and ‘convincing’ him to back down. Patrick wonders if it’s actually happened. “Why the sudden U-turn?”

“He ran out of money.” Robyn answers. “And his lawyers realised that they were never going to win against Pete Senior, so why keep fighting if they’re not getting paid up front and they certainly won’t be able to recoup their losses afterwards? I know it’s not in the spirit of the day, but I’m so fucking happy to be single right now. I know you’re all loved up and happy but-“

“We broke up.” Patrick cuts in. Robyn deflates like a balloon. She comes up onto her knees and reaches for Patrick, wrapping him into a tight hug.

“I’m so sorry, ‘Trick.” She says. “I’m an insensitive asshole, coming in here like that.”

“You weren’t to know.” Patrick tells her, returning the hug. “And I’m glad you’re here. And I’m glad you’re done with the whole Cosmo thing. That’s the best news I’ve had in a while.”

“Can I ask what happened?” Robyn gives Patrick a final squeeze and resumes her position opposite him. “Or would you rather get trashed and listen to death metal all night? Like, anti-Valentines.”

“That sounds fucking awesome.” Patrick smiles. “We don’t have to go out to do any of that, do we?”

“Fuck no.” Robyn replies. “You have alcohol and music. I’ll order Thai food. That new place a couple of blocks over is really good. You want?”

“Yeah.” Patrick nods. “Thai would be great.”

“Cool. By the way, did I leave my Incubus shirt here?”

“Do you mean _Joe's_ Incubus shirt?” Patrick laughs. Robyn rolls her eyes at him.

“Technically, once the borrower washes the borrowed shirt it becomes theirs.” She tells him.

“Oh, _that’s_ the rule?” Patrick checks for clarification and Robyn nods. “In that case, _technically_ , it’s my shirt now, because I’ve put it through with my laundry. I think I’m going to gift it to Joe because he once had a shirt identical to that one and he really liked it. I think someone borrowed it and never gave it back.”

“Just tell me where it is.” Robyn grins, shoving her paper back in her pocket.

“It’s in your room.” Patrick checks himself too late, realising what he’s said. “The guest room, I mean. You’re the only one who ever sleeps there, so it’s basically your room.”

There’s a beat where they just look at one another, then Robyn is pushing up off the couch to go and retrieve her shirt. Patrick lets his head fall onto the back of the couch and mentally berates himself for being such an idiot. Then he thinks about the truth of his statement and how much of Robyn's stuff is in that room, and throughout his house, and how much of his stuff is at her house. That’s not even considering the fact that they have a key to one another’s houses and she’s the only woman in his life with that privilege who isn’t immediate family. It’s a complete contrast to the situation with his now-ex. And now both he and Robyn are single again, and much more involved with one another again. _She doesn’t think of you like that_ , he tells himself.

Robyn comes back into the room, now wearing the Incubus shirt.

“Joe wore this to that stupid dance at our school.” Robyn reminds him, settling onto the couch again. “Do you remember that?”

“God, yes.” Patrick closes his eyes and winces. “I made a total fool of myself over that exchange student. I made you kiss me.”

“To make her jealous.” Robyn grins as Patrick squirms with embarrassment. “It worked though. You were necking pretty heavy when I saw you.”

“Yeah, she went off with one of the football team after you left. How did you get home, by the way?”

“He’s concerned for my wellbeing, ten years after the fact.” Robyn puts a hand to her chest. “Oh, my heart! I drove Joe's car, because he was blazed, and he stayed over. You don’t have much luck with Valentine’s Day, do you?”

“Nope.” Patrick agrees. “But it’s just a commercial con anyway, right?”

“Oh, for sure.” Robyn nods a little too emphatically. “I don’t buy into it _at all_. But hey, who knows what could happen between now and next year? You might meet someone and be totally into it by then. It just takes the right person.”

“Yeah.” Patrick nods slowly. “Who knows?”

_Valentine’s Day 2014_

Robyn's plane lands at LAX at 10.00am. It’s 6 and a half hours between New York and LA, and she flew through the night, but she’s been on interview duty for four days, including morning radio shows for two of those and GMA for another, and she never sleeps well on planes anyway, even now that she can fly Business Class. She’s exhausted and looking forward to sleeping in her own bed, and tomorrow she’ll have Patrick's arms wrapped around her. Andy has gone home to his Mom’s for a couple of days, and Joe has stayed an extra night in New York with Marie, so Robyn stumbles through Arrivals alone, her eyes scratchy and sore from lack of sleep. Pete flew home last night in order to have the day with Bronx. Patrick, as far as she’s aware, will arrive tomorrow, having done the Vegas circuit with Pete, while Robyn interviewed with Joe and Andy.

She’s standing at the baggage carousel, trying not to fall asleep standing up, when a familiar body presses into her from behind, very familiar arms circle her waist and _extremely_ familiar lips land on the side of her neck. She twists her head to smile delightedly at Patrick.

“Hey! Hi!” She says, turning fully into his arms.

“Surprise!” He leans in for a kiss, sliding his hands under her jacket and around to the back of her. “Thought I’d come and pick you up. You look beat.”

“Thanks.” Robyn replies, giving him a little nudge. “You didn’t think to let me know you’d be here?”

“That’s kind of how surprises work.” He grins. “I don’t tell you I’m picking you up and you’re surprised when I do. Hence ‘surprise!’”

“You can pick me up anytime.” She raises her eyebrows at him and his grin widens. Robyn reminds herself to breathe. Patrick still doesn’t know the full effect he has on her and he wouldn’t believe her if she tried to explain it. “I would have been ok getting a cab. You didn’t have to drive all the way out here.”

“ _Such_ a hardship, having to drive through LA in the sunshine and pick up the love of my life from the airport.” Patrick kisses her on the nose, aware that people are looking at them, and not giving even the tiniest of shits. “And on Valentine’s Day, no less.”

“Why, so it is!” Robyn exclaims, as if she didn’t know. “I wish they’d publicise it a little more. Everywhere is so subtle about it. If you hadn’t just told me, I wouldn’t have known.” They both look around at the decorations in the airport, and other people waiting for loved ones, holding balloons and giant stuffed animals. “Oh, here’s my case.”

Patrick grabs her case and pulls out the extendable handle so he can wheel it behind him, then takes her carry on too, putting the strap across his body and leaving one hand free to hold hers as they head for the parking garage. He waits until they’re on the road to tell her they have to go to Pete's.

“Of course we do.” Robyn agrees. “Because how else would we celebrate our first Valentine’s Day together than with Pete. Isn’t that what the day is about, after all? The man you love and his best friend?”

“I didn’t know you were into that, but I guess I can ask Pete.” Patrick says. “Whatever makes you happy.”

“You’re an ass.” Robyn tells him. “Can I at least get a reason for going there instead of straight home?”

“We’ve been writing a lot these past few days.” Patrick explains. “We’re just kind of wrapping it up, I guess. And he has Bronx today so…”

“So, you guys wanted me to babysit.” Robyn understands. “You sly goose, Lunchbox.”

Patrick laughs at her using the old nickname on him, but he doesn’t deny what they both know is the truth. Robyn sighs, massively put-upon.

“I _will_ help you guys out.” She says. “But you owe me big time. Both of you.”

“Again with the ‘two guys’ hints.” Patrick shakes his head. “Never had you down as that kind of girl, 'Byn, but obviously that’s what you want.”

“Starting to think that’s what _you_ want.” Robyn replies. “But if you think you can get hold of Chris Hemsworth at such short notice, then sure, we’re good to go.” She looks out of her window to hide her smile from Patrick, who makes an indignant sound to her left.

“Him, really?” He asks. Robyn clamps her teeth down on her bottom lip to stop herself from laughing. “Is this why we saw Thor 2 three times? I thought you actually liked the movie!” He starts to laugh halfway through the sentence and Robyn turns to look at him.

“Not gonna lie, ‘Trick.” She giggles. “I’m a sucker for a Norse God, what can I say.”

“Great. My biggest competition is a six-foot plus guy, with huge biceps and a six-pack. I don’t feel inadequate at all. We should _definitely_ have a threesome with that guy.”

“Is it better or worse than your boyfriend not only being told to actively flirt with Victoria’s Secret models while they walk around him in their underwear as he performs, but almost hooking up with one at New Year’s?” Robyn twists in her seat to face Patrick.

“You know I have to concentrate on my driving,” Patrick tells her dryly, “so, I can’t get into _that_ with you other than to say having one drink with that girl – while you were in the room, I might add – does not constitute ‘almost hooking up’. Should we talk about you and Brendon and your not-so-secret affair?”

“You know about that?” Robyn is surprised at this knowledge.

“It’s _Brendon_. He’s grown up a lot since we signed him, but at that point he was very young and very stupid. You’re pretty lucky that more people _don’t_ know about that.” There’s a tightness in Patrick's voice now that Robyn can’t figure out.

“It was eight years ago.” She tries to laugh, but Patrick's body language is different. And he’s not making eye contact any more. They’re on a quiet, suburban street, close to Pete's house. “Pull over.” She tells him. He does, but doesn’t look her way, keeping his hands on the steering wheel and looking through the windscreen at the road ahead. Robyn unfastens her seatbelt and takes one of Patrick's hands from the wheel. “Hey. Would you look at me, please?”

“I know this is irrational jealousy.” Patrick tells her, turning her hand over in his so he can rub his thumb in her palm. “And I know it’s eight years ago. But you were with him for three months. It wasn’t a one-night stand.”

“What’s your point?”

“You know what? It’s not even jealousy. It’s…paranoia, I guess.” Patrick laughs, humourlessly, at himself.

“That I’m going to leave you for Brendon?” Robyn doesn’t believe what she’s hearing, what she thinks he’s thinking.

“That what we have is what you had with him, and that when the excitement wears off you’re going to move on.” Patrick finally lifts his eyes to hers and the worry Robyn sees there makes her want to cry.

“What I had with him,” Robyn speaks carefully, wanting to be truthful but not hurtful, “was a good time, nothing more. It was just sex, Patrick. And it’s never been just that with you. All I wanted from him was fun. It was never meant to be anything serious. It was never meant to last as long as it did, and I’m frankly amazed that it did. And I was with him because I couldn’t be with you. At any point, for as long as I’ve known you, if you’d ever said to me ‘let’s do this’, I would have dropped everything and everyone for you. It was always you, ‘Trick.”

“You got married.” He says quietly. “Would you have dropped _him_.”

“In a heartbeat.” She answers. Patrick huffs out a breath in surprise. “I got married because I watched Pete get married and have a child, and then we went on hiatus, and my whole life up until that point had been tied up in this band and you guys. You were my world and everything revolved around you all and what we’d been doing as a unit. I had no idea how to exist without all of you – we’d been in and out of studios and travelling the world together since I was 16. I lived and breathed Fall Out Boy and then that rug got yanked out from under me and Cosmo was there. And he seemed like he wanted the same things I wanted. I was just desperate to feel part of something again. I knew, even before I married him, that it was wrong, and at any other time I would have had you, and Joe, and Andy, and Pete surrounding me, telling me and looking after me. But Joe and Andy were recording, and you were in your studio, and Pete was running his label and working on Black Cards. I didn’t love Cosmo, Patrick. I didn’t love Brendon. I sure as hell don’t love Chris Hemsworth.” Patrick laughs again, and the smile remains on his face this time. “I sure as hell _do_ love you. And when I marry you I’ll know it’s right.”

“Chris Hemsworth though.” Patrick makes a face. “Robert Downey Jnr I can compete with, maybe. He’s only Pete's size.”

“The thing about Chris Hemsworth is that he’s acting.” Robyn says. “I’d like to see him sing to 20,000 people for 90 minutes. As far as I’m concerned, the real God of Thunder is sitting in the car with me. Besides, your hammer is bigger than his.”

“Nicely done.” Patrick lifts her hand to his mouth and brushes his lips across her knuckles. “You’ll give me a big head.”

“God, I hope so.” Robyn says, lowering her voice seductively and biting her bottom lip. “Although, it’s more about what you _do_ with that big head that counts.”

“You’re a terrible distraction.” Patrick tells her, kissing her knuckles one last time, then starting the engine while she buckles her belt.

“I think I’m a pretty good distraction actually.”

“You’ve been spending way too much time with Joe this week.” Patrick groans.

*****

It is an unseasonably warm day for February, and Bronx, full of endless energy, much like his father, had wanted to play outside in the pool. Pete is grateful for Robyn's presence – Bronx had squealed with delight when Robyn walked in with Patrick, flinging himself into her arms – but now he feels a twinge of guilt. He hasn’t seen his son in over a week and today is his only day with him until next weekend and he’s spent a good chunk of it working.

Bronx’s delight had increased when Robyn agreed to play in the pool with him. The fact that she didn’t have a swimsuit with her didn’t slow her down for a second – she simply borrowed a t-shirt of Pete's and wore that with her underwear. When she ducked under the water for the first time and bobbed back up, grabbing a shrieking Bronx and hoisting him into the air, Pete had dragged Patrick inside, knowing his friend would stand staring at Robyn in a clinging, wet t-shirt all afternoon if he could.

The screams of joy and laughter had drifted in to them for the last hour or so, along with splashing and the squeak of rubber pool toys. Ten minutes ago, a semi-dry Bronx had appeared to tell his Dad that they were going to play Avengers. He’d dashed off to his room and gone back outside with an armload of plastic figures. Now Robyn comes in, pulling the wet material of her borrowed t-shirt away from her stomach with a grimace. Patrick's eyes almost pop out of his head at the sight, but Robyn is so pre-occupied with getting dry and into warmer clothes that she goes straight through the kitchen, heading for the bathroom.

“I better get that shirt back, Parker!” Pete shouts after her with a grin, then notices that Patrick, on auto-pilot, is starting after Robyn, his fingers, Pete is amused to note, opening and closing in an unconscious grasping motion, already preparing for where they’re going to land on his girlfriend.

“Easy, tiger,” Pete laughs, holding Patrick by the elbow. “We’re working, remember? And she’s looking after my kid. Although, I guess I should maybe get him in. He’s damp, and it’s warm out but it’s not that warm.” He walks to the open door and grins again as he hears Patrick mutter “cockblocker” sourly behind him. When Pete comes back into the kitchen, carrying Bronx and his toys, Patrick is nowhere to be seen, but Pete can guess.

*****

Robyn is about to take off her wet clothes when there is a soft knock at the bathroom door. It’s too high up to be Bronx, and she doubts he’d knock anyway, being five, so she knows it has to be Patrick. She opens the door to let him in and he locks the door behind him before crowding her backwards against the counter, his mouth seeking hers hungrily and his body pressing hard against her. Robyn laughs softly against his mouth, puts her hands to his shoulders and pushes him backwards a step.

“I’m soaking wet.” She informs him, as if it isn’t obvious, and he gives her a loaded look which makes her insides twist. “Any more of that, you’re going to be wet too. I don’t know how kindly Pete will take to the both of us borrowing his clothes.”

Patrick thinks for all of three seconds then strips his t-shirt over his head and tosses it to the floor next to Robyn who shakes her head, laughing again.

“Do you have no restraint?” She asks as he kicks his way out of his boots, unbuttoning his jeans at the same time and pushing them down so he can kick them to the side, inside out and in a heap, his shorts on top of them. She’s quietly thrilled every time he does this – he still has, and will probably always have, self-confidence issues and will hide his body as much as possible from everyone else, but Robyn feels incredibly privileged that he no longer has those issues while with her and will now strip with abandon whenever and wherever for her. Now, completely and wonderfully naked, he’s already reaching for her again, unable to keep his hands from her.

“When it comes to you?” His mouth is under her chin, tasting the chlorine on her skin. “Absolutely none. But we have to be _so_ quiet. Do you think you can?”

Robyn pulls back again, as much as she can caught between Patrick's body and the counter behind her – although not too much because the second his body came back into contact with hers she was running her hands over those shoulders she loves so much and down the chest she can never get enough of, especially bared to her as it is now.

“I _definitely_ can.” She assures him, then moves her hand down between their bodies and wraps her fingers around his cock, which is pressing against her hip, leaking and throbbing. He shudders and presses his face into her shoulder to stifle a moan. “It’s you I’m worried about.”

“You don’t play fair.” He complains into the wet material of her shirt, his voice a gorgeous mixture of breathy gruffness. “I think I can make you louder.”

He cups her breasts through the shirt, rolls his thumbs over her nipples, the wet cotton adding extra friction and her head falls backwards as she gasps. She grabs both of his wrists in her hands and looks him in the eye.

“I thought the idea was to be quiet.” She reminds him in a whisper, putting her index finger to his lips – he tips his head sideways and bites her finger carefully. Then she slips out from where he has her pinned and steps behind him, making him automatically turn to face her. “But if we’re competing?”. She goes to her knees in front of him, watches his entire body tense apart from his knees, which start to tremble. “Oh, would you look at that? I think I’m going to win this.”

She delivers a long lick from the base to the tip of his cock, capturing his stickiness with her tongue. Patrick bites his fist and makes the mistake of looking down at Robyn. She meets his eyes, drops him a wink, and closes her lips over the head. His hands, which were clutching the counter in a death grip either side of his hips, twist into her dripping hair as she sucks him slowly and carefully. Her hand moves between his legs to stroke and slightly squeeze at his overly-sensitive and extremely tight balls, rewarding her with his thighs tensing so hard she can see the muscles standing out in them.

“Robyn, you… _fuck._ ” Patrick manages through gritted teeth. “So…not fair.”

Robyn pulls away, letting his cock leave her mouth with an obscene popping noise, and licks around his lower stomach, biting softly every so often, her hand circling his cock again and pumping him as agonisingly slowly as she sucked him. Patrick strongly suspects he is heading for an aneurism – something definitely shorted out.

“Patrick.” She kisses to the side of his cock. He shudders. “You wanted this.” Another kiss, followed by a nip, on the other side. Patrick hisses at the sting. “Are you done?”

“No.” He tips her head back by tugging lightly at her hair, locks eyes again. “You didn’t make me loud.”

“True.” She sighs. Then she flicks her tongue out and swirls it rapidly around the swollen head, using as much pressure as she can. Patrick throws his head back and groans, loud and long. The sound echoes around the bathroom. Patrick knows, far away in his brain, that he should be worrying about how far the bathroom is from the kitchen, whether Pete will hear him, but he can’t bring himself to care. He looks down at Robyn again to find her grinning at him around his cock, one eyebrow raised as if in conquest. “You want me to finish you off?” She asks, her breath on his delicate skin sending jolts of pleasure through him. Patrick knows how close he is – he’s teetering right now – and he knows that she knows it too. But Patrick is also competitive, a fact that Robyn seems to have forgotten in the heat of the moment, and it’s about time he reminded her.

“Get up here.” He tells her, his breath coming short and fast. For a second he thinks she’s going to stay put and end it all, which – he’s not gonna lie – wouldn’t be a _bad_ thing, as such, but it’s not what he came in here for. He came in here to do things to _her,_ to hear her moaning his name and feel her hot and tight and wrapped around his cock, and if she undoes him now it’s going to be at least a little while before he’s ready to go again. And that just won’t do at all. Luckily, she understands. They know each far too well by now and she gets the urgency in his voice and in his eyes, and comes to her feet, pressing her body against his once more and putting her mouth to his ear.

“I think I win.” She says. “You were loud.”

“I was.” Patrick agrees. He’s going to fight dirty, but she’s not to know that. “Game over. Now I just want to touch you, if that’s ok?”

As ever, what he says and the way he says it, is what brings Robyn to her knees, metaphorically speaking this time. She forgets the competitive nature of everything they’ve done up until now and Patrick watches her visibly relax, watches her go soft and doe-eyed at him.

“I’ve wanted to do this since you first got into that damned pool earlier.” He says, turning her to face the mirror over the counter. Hooking his fingers into the collar of the shirt he pulls it to one side then pushes her hair out of the way and presses his lips, slightly apart, against the exposed skin. His mouth is warm on her damp shoulder and her eyes drift shut as he sucks a bruise there. “Open your eyes.” He tells her softly, before moving to her other shoulder and repeating the action. She does, but he can see it’s a struggle, until her eyes meet his in the mirror, then they open wide at the dark, animal look of lust in his. The way that his mouth is fixed to her shoulder, all she can see is those eyes, blue verging on purple verging on black.

“God, Patrick.” She gasps the words out in shock. “You look like you should have your fucking hook!” It’s not an insult and they both know it. It’s no secret between them – probably the whole band know – that Robyn is seriously turned on by the persona Patrick has been adopting for the series of videos they’re filming.

(“You’re just so _bad_.” She told him on set for Where Did The Party Go. “All roughed up and…murderous.” Patrick raised an eyebrow at that. “You know I’m _actually_ going to kill you all, right?” He asked. “Like, I’m going to strangle Joe in _this_ video. And you’re excited by this?” He looked slightly concerned until Robyn reassured him. “Not the actual murdering part. Just the way you look. It’s _very_ convincing.” She leaned into him – they were sitting outside the hospital where they were filming, having a break from the lights and the noise inside – and lowered her voice. “Do we have ten minutes? Is there somewhere we can go?” ‘Somewhere’ turned out to be an empty hospital room where they had frantic and extremely loud sex against the door, the song blasting on repeat in the corridors outside drowning out any and all noise from the two of them, before Robyn sent Patrick back to filming with the words “if that nurse gets too touchy-feely with you, I may get murderous myself”.)

Robyn's pupils dilate even further as Patrick smiles against her shoulder, then he licks over the second bruise he’s inflicted, at the same time slipping his hands under the hem of her t-shirt and hooking his thumbs into the sides of her panties, sliding them down her legs and kneeling behind her. Now Robyn grips the counter the way Patrick was previously and he lifts first her left foot, then the right, out of her underwear and tosses the wet panties aside. Then he slowly, deliberately, kisses and nips his way up the back of her legs, adding tiny licks behind her knees, where he knows she’s sensitive. His teeth sink in again at the top of her thigh, right under her ass, leaving another imprint, another mark of his possession. Oh, he wants to make her _scream_ , but the breathy little moans are a good start.

When he stands behind her again Robyn waits, tensed for whatever comes next, but he just runs his hand under the t-shirt again, his thumb lazily circling her navel and brushing against the piercing there.

“Look at you.” He speaks directly into her ear, but maintains the eye contact in the mirror. “How did I get this lucky? How did I get to be the one who puts these marks on you?” He brushes his lips over the bite on her right shoulder. “Or who kisses you?” He runs his mouth up the side of her neck. “Takes off your clothes?” He pulls the t-shirt up and she lifts her arms so he can remove it completely, tossing it onto the counter where it slides into the sink. “How am I the guy who can touch you here?” He teases her nipples with his calloused fingertips. “Or here.” His hand moves down quickly, between her thighs, his fingers going straight to her clit and she arches her hips, pushing up into his touch and wanting more of it.

She rolls against him and it’s exactly what he needs to thrust inside her from behind, lifting her onto her toes. He wraps his free arm around her waist, making sure he doesn’t knock her against the counter in front of her as he fucks her, his other hand stroking quick and sure in the exact spot he knows will get her off.

And _now_ she begins to moan, his name slipping from her lips easily, as it always does, sending that familiar spark of desire down his spine. Then one of her hands comes up to her face and she bites two of her fingers and shakes her head at him. Patrick understands – she won’t risk being overheard, not in Pete's house. They’ve played it fast and loose on many occasions and in many risky places, but while there’s always been an element of danger to it, the threat of being seen or heard has always been miniscule – this is cutting it too close for Robyn's liking and Patrick won’t even contemplate the idea of making her uncomfortable. He pulls out of her, slows down with his fingers and whispers to her.

“Shh, shh, I’ve got you.” Robyn rests her head back against his shoulder. Patrick looks around the bathroom, wanting something specific and knowing it’s there somewhere. He finally locates the hairdryer under a towel discarded on a shelf to his right. He shows it to Robyn who narrows her eyes at him – she should have known Patrick never gives up that easily. She wriggles against him, grabbing his wrist and moving his hand from between her legs.

“This is entrapment.” She knows she’s right when she sees Patrick struggling to keep a smile from his face. “Game over, my ass. Unless you’re prepared to level up, give it up, Stump. You lost this one. You won’t get a sound out of me anything like what I got from you.”

“You think?” He takes her by the hips and turns her to face him, then lifts her onto the counter, nudging her knees apart and stepping between them before she can stop him – not that she really has any intention of stopping any part of this. That train left the station and promptly derailed the second she unlocked the door for him. “Be loud for me, baby.” This last is delivered in a low whisper that liquefies the last of her resolve, before he flicks the switch on the appliance and almost throws it back onto the shelf as it roars to life. Then, with a tug of her hips, sliding her forward on the counter so that she’s balanced on the edge, he’s inside her again.

The angle is perfect. He hits her g-spot immediately and Robyn can’t _help_ but be loud, her initial gasp of surprise and delight turning into a moan of his name, hoarse and throaty. Her legs lift and wrap around him, ankles locking at the small of his back, and her hands clasp at the back of his neck, fingers winding into the sweat-damp, burnished-copper hair that’s in need of a trim. He feels so good inside her, exactly where he’s meant to be – Robyn still occasionally mentally berates herself for having waited so long to put her moves on him because it means she’s missed _years_ of this. She rocks her hips onto him, wanting him deeper, harder, faster – and Patrick knows what she wants and gives her everything he has.

She doesn’t quite scream, but it’s pretty close, the sound bursting from her throat as she comes apart. Patrick watches her face, her pupils blown and her lips parted, his name on her lips once again, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen a sight more beautiful. It breaks him entirely and he kisses her mouth, her cheeks, her forehead, her eyelids, before pressing his forehead to the bridge of her nose, her skin hot under his, and closes his eyes momentarily, his arms tight around her waist.

They stay that way until their heartrates and breathing are back to normal, then Patrick switches off the hairdryer and grabs the nearest thing to clean them both up with. By the time Robyn realises ‘the nearest thing’ is Pete's loaned t-shirt, it’s too late to undo the damage.

“There’s a box of tissues _right there_!” She points to the corner of the unit she’s still sitting on. Patrick grins and shrugs.

“It’ll wash off.” He says, locating the laundry hamper and stuffing the t-shirt under some other clothes of Pete's. “Besides, do you know how many of _our_ clothes he violated over the years?”

“We’re _not_ those kids anymore.” Robyn objects, but she’s laughing.

“Speak for yourself.” Patrick responds. “We might have conquered the world but we’ll always be five tired kids in a van.” He drops a kiss onto the tip of her nose.

“I’m going to shower.” Robyn informs him, sliding off the counter and finding her legs are a little wobbly underneath her. Patrick opens his mouth, a hopeful look on his face. “ _You_ go back to work.”

She can hear him grumbling as he dresses and the hot water starts to cascade down onto her now-chilly body, but he does as he’s told and goes back to join Pete, who is now watching TV, with Bronx asleep in his lap. Patrick drops onto the couch next to him, after detouring to the kitchen and fetching three bottles of beer from Pete's fridge. Pete takes the offered bottle.

“Anything else in my house you want to help yourself to?” He asks. “Because I _know_ you two did not just fu-“ he looks at his sleeping son and cuts himself off “-have s-e-x in my house.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Patrick clinks the neck of his bottle against Pete's, enjoying the grimace on his best friend’s face. “And I’m never going to tell you where it was last time either. I’ll take that to my grave.”

“You’re gross.” Pete says. “And bad at puns. But mostly, I’m impressed at your big…drive, ‘Trick. You’re insatiable. Do you two ever put a lid on it?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Patrick asks, taking a swallow of his beer.

“So, it _is_ just fun then?” Pete hasn’t yet been able to pin Patrick down on details. Now Patrick shakes his head.

“No, absolutely not.” He tells Pete. “I’m going to marry her, Pete. Sooner, rather than later.”

The fact that Pete doesn’t look shocked by this news tells Patrick that Pete knew what Patrick's feelings were probably before Patrick knew them himself.

“You know what else you need?” Pete nods downwards. Patrick looks at Bronx, curled into Pete's chest, blonde curls like a halo and breathing the deep contentment of sleep. Patrick's mouth goes dry.

“I…we haven’t talked about that.” He swallows another mouthful of beer. “I mean, I’ve _always_ wanted kids. You know that.” Pete nods. “But I don’t know how Robyn feels about it. One thing at a time, y’know? I know she wants to get married, so we’ll make that happen and then we can think about kids later.”

“Imagine it though.” Pete says, his voice soft and almost hypnotic. “Your mouth and baby blues, Robyn's nose and freckles. Her curls, your voice. Your kids would be cute as hell, man.”

“Yeah.” Patrick agrees. “I think that too. And I’d have kids with her tomorrow. I just-“

“You want to have kids with me?” Robyn asks from the doorway to the kitchen. Both men turn their heads to look at her, blue eyes and whiskey-gold full of shock. Pete is on his feet in an instant, quickly yet carefully, Bronx not even stirring as Pete shifts him onto his shoulder.

“That’s my cue to leave.” Pete announces, heading for the door.

“This is _your_ house.” Robyn reminds him, but Pete is already picking up his car keys

“Little guy wants ice cream.” Pete opens his front door.

“He’s asleep!” Robyn points out as Pete steps outside.

“Gotta give the little dude what he wants.” Pete closes the door behind him. As Robyn turns back to face Patrick again, she hears Pete's tyres crunching on the gravel as he backs carefully out of his driveway. No Miami Vice this time.

Patrick pats the cushion next to him and hands Robyn her bottle of beer as she sits next to him, twisting her legs up underneath her. She doesn’t drink though, just picks at the label.

“You want kids with me?” She repeats when Patrick doesn’t speak. Patrick nods mutely. Robyn puts the beer she hasn’t touched on Pete's glass coffee table. “I’m glad to hear to hear that, Patrick, cos it’s kinda happening.” She bites her lip, waits on Patrick's response. “Like, right now.” She emphasises.

“You’re pregnant?” The words come out in a rush. Patrick's eyes drop to Robyn's stomach. “But you said you were protected.”

“Did you think I meant I had a gun?” Robyn throws Patrick's lyrics at him teasingly, but he doesn’t even register what she says. “Yes.” She confirms for him. “I’m pregnant. And yes, I _was_ using birth control. You must have, like, super sperm or something. And I must have an extremely welcoming uterus. Or maybe we’re just right, and this is just right, and it’s meant to be.”

Patrick scooches forward and places both hands on Robyn's stomach. Then he lifts his eyes to Robyn's again. He looks a little shell-shocked.

“But we just…” he trails off.

“What?” Robyn shakes her head in confusion, even as she’s covering Patrick's hands with her own.

“Had _sex_.” Patrick whispers the second word. Robyn smiles.

“Baby can’t hear you yet.” She says. “And even if it could, it wouldn’t know that _sex_ is a dirty word, you bad boy.” When she fails to raise even a smile from Patrick, she becomes worried. “Are you ok? I thought you’d be happy. I hoped…” she runs out of steam.

Walking into the room to hear Patrick saying he’d have children with her tomorrow had lifted the weight that she’d been carrying since New York, when Andy – of all people – had convinced her to do a pregnancy test after she’d been nauseous three mornings in a row and the smell of the breakfast scrambled eggs in the hotel had made her feel ill. The thought hadn’t crossed her mind – if anything, she’d considered that her period was _finally_ going to arrive. Watching the little window of the kit that Andy – that God among men – had brought back from the hotel pharmacy and seeing the positive symbol appear, before showing the result to Andy and Joe had been the scariest moment of Robyn's life.

“What if he doesn’t want it?” She’d asked them. “I want it. I didn’t know I did until right now, but I do. But what if he doesn’t?”

“It’s _Patrick.”_ Joe had reminded her. “Dude has wanted kids since he stopped _being_ a kid. And it’s you. He wants his whole life with you. There’s no way that life isn’t going to include kids.”

Now, looking at Patrick as he removes his hands from her stomach and places them carefully in his lap then refuses to meet her eye, Robyn thinks Joe got it wrong. _She_ got it wrong. She knows he loves her – he told her less than two months in – and she knows he wants to be with her, but maybe this is too much, too soon. So, she gives him a get-out.

“Listen.” She says. “You should know, I’m keeping it either way, but you can walk away if you want to.” Patrick finally looks at her, his eyes huge behind his glasses.

“Why would I walk away?” He asks.

“You’re not giving me the impression that this is what you want _right now_.” Robyn treads very carefully. “I know it’s a shock, and maybe the timing isn’t great-“

Patrick takes Robyn's face in his hands and covers it with hot, urgent kisses.

“Never.” He tells her fiercely. “I would _never_ leave. I’m not going anywhere. No fucking way.” He suddenly fumbles in his pocket and comes up with a small box. “I’m a walking cliché and a year ago I was complaining that Valentine’s Day is a con-job, but I had no big plan for today other than to give you this.” He opens the box to show Robyn the ring inside it. “And yeah, it’s an engagement ring.” His face is growing red as he gets flustered. “But it can be whatever you want it to be. I know you said you’d say yes if I asked, but now I don’t want you to think I’m asking because you’re pregnant. Because I was gonna ask anyway!” He finishes indignantly.

“You’re adorable when you’re agitated.” Robyn tells him, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “And I will say yes, but not because I think that’s what you want to hear – before you go _there_ – but because I want to.” She waits for Patrick to take the next step but he just blinks at her as he waits for her to say ‘yes’, so she takes him back to the beginning; to a hot day in July, to poolside texting and awkward flirting, to explicit pictures and a public bathroom, to secret sex and a not-so-secretly bossy hot guy in a fedora.

“Patrick, you need to say the words.” She repeats his phrase from their first time.

And Patrick smiles, his mouth lifting at the corners the way it only does for certain people, before surprising Robyn one more time by behaving in a cliched manner, despite hating clichés.

Patrick gets down on one knee.


	6. I'd Trade All My Tomorrows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is nigh! A jump forward in time for the final chapter and uncertainty is in the air...
> 
> Thanks once more to everyone who's been reading this over the past week and to those who read it before it was uploaded and encouraged me to upload - and continue to encourage me with their lovely words here and behind the scenes. And a HUGE thank you to the amazing @serenityspiral who created the mood board for this chapter. I'm in love with it and this chapter is dedicated to her.
> 
> I'm not done with these guys yet - you have been warned.

_September 2013 – I’m Outside the Door, Invite Me In_

Patrick is on Robyn's doorstep again. It’s not the second time he’s been here. It’s not the third, the fourth, or even the fifth time. It’s way up in double-digits by now. Then there’s the times she’s been at his place. And the times they’ve hooked up at other places too. Patrick shakes his head to himself at that thought. This has _never_ been just hooking up – even the first time was much more than that.

Patrick has had some _great_ sex in his life – he knows he’s been lucky with the way things have worked out for him, and that it has never hurt his sex appeal to be both in an extremely successful and famous band _and_ to have Pete as his best friend – but what he’s got with Robyn goes way beyond that. This is mind-blowing, out-of-this-world, nothing-else-compares sex, and he’s not kidding himself about the fact that it’s as amazing as it is because of the feelings involved.

He ignored the emotional attachments to begin with. It was easily done and he’s sure Robyn did the same thing. They’re best friends and have been since they were teenagers, plus they ‘work’ together, in extremely close quarters, and spend huge chunks of their time more or less in one another’s’ faces – the waters were undoubtedly going to be muddied by feelings once the sex became a regular thing.

But, after less than a month, the Big Truck of Feels hit Patrick at breakneck speed one afternoon during soundcheck and almost knocked him unconscious. He’d been standing at his mic stand, tuning his guitar and listening to Pete telling some story about Bruno Mars, when Robyn had laughed to his right at something Joe was saying to her. Patrick had almost given himself whiplash turning his head to look at Robyn, the sound of her laugh tugging at his heart in a way he’d never experienced before. She’d looked his way, her lips curving into a knowing smile and a look appearing in her eyes that Patrick knew was just for him, and he’d admitted defeat on the spot. He was in deep and he knew it. And he didn’t care.

Now, the weather is still beautiful, even heading into fall as they are, and the temperature is already climbing into the twenties at 8.30am, and Patrick is waiting outside Robyn's house so they can go for a run together. This is how he knows how bad it is – he’s agreed to go running. At 8.30 in the morning. On a hot day. There is no one else in the world he would do this for. He is willing to give up his sleep and do exercise, outside, in front of people, in the heat, because Robyn suggested it – as a joke. Robyn runs three times a week, as well as working out with Andy on two other days, but Patrick's main form exercise these days comes from being on stage, as well as all the _physical_ time he’s putting in one-one-one with Robyn. He’s pretty sure he can count that as something, right?

He has a key to Robyn's house, as she does for his – which was an established thing while they were friends, not something ‘relationshipy’ they’ve agreed on, although Patrick's brain is running full steam ahead with all of that lately – but he feels that he shouldn’t be walking into her house anymore unannounced, which is weird – it’s not as if he’s in danger of interrupting her with someone. That makes his brain jump to a whole new area. They haven’t had any kind of discussion about what this is or where it’s going, so Patrick has no idea whether they’re exclusive or not. He hasn’t even thought about the possibility of dating anyone else since he first slept with Robyn, but he doesn’t know what she’s thinking.

As he’s doing the typical ‘Patrick thing’ of working himself up into a frenzy over something that he doesn’t know to be true and also can’t control if it _is_ true, while also thinking about ringing the doorbell, the front door opens and Robyn grins at him.

“How long have you been standing there?” she asks. “And why didn’t you just come in?” She pauses, narrows her eyes at him. “More importantly, what are you thinking about right now, ‘cos your face is doing that thing, where something is bothering you.”

“Too many questions!” Patrick objects. “Are we running?”

Robyn turns away to lock her door, missing the relieved breath Patrick lets out at avoiding her scrutiny. Then he’s distracted by what she’s wearing and when she looks at him again she laughs.

“Ok, I know _that_ face too.” She tells him. “But I usually only see it when I’m naked. What’s up, ‘Trick?”

“Just had you down as a lycra kind of girl.” He replies.

“Really?” She smooths a hand down over her hip, tugs her 80s-style shorts straight, then tightens her ponytail. “I do that when I’m with Andy, sure, but not for running. Sorry to disappoint.”

“No, this is even better.” Patrick smiles. “But are we planning on running back to the 80s to give those shorts to a gym teacher?”

“Funny. I see you’ve finally bought some appropriate jogging bottoms.” She begins to stretch, pushing her clasped hands out in front of her. “I haven’t forgotten you running in your jeans with Pete when we lived in the village.” She bends forward and grasps her ankles, looking up at Patrick and enjoying the new expression on his face. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Could you maybe _not_ do that?” Patrick asks in a strangled voice. “You’re giving me all kinds of ideas, and none of them are to do with running.”

“I bet they’re all about getting physical though.” Robyn straightens up, bends one knee up behind her and tugs her foot tight against her behind. “C’mon, dude, you need to stretch it out and warm up or you’re gonna ache like a bitch tomorrow.”

“Pretty sure that’s on the agenda anyway.” Patrick starts copying Robyn's movements. “I’m not the face of Planet Fitness like you and Hurley. As you’ll see when you go tearing off down the street.”

“I’ll take it easy on you.” Robyn finishes with her stretches and helps Patrick with his, making sure he’s doing things right. “I won’t go too fast, or too far. Can’t promise any of that for when we get back though.” She gives him a quick raise of her eyebrows and a last smile before she sets off down her driveway at a slow jog. Patrick sighs and runs to catch up.

*****

 True to her word, Robyn keeps the pace slow and easy, allowing Patrick the breaks he needs and encouraging him to sip water every so often. The sun climbs higher as they do a loop that will eventually bring them back to Robyn's house where Patrick is certain he’ll die from either exhaustion or heat stroke.

They run three miles in all and when they’re on the last quarter, Patrick drops back a little. He’s puffing and panting, sweating up a storm, and he just knows his face is an unsightly shade of red. He wants a little recovery time before they get back to Robyn's house, not wanting her to be confronted with him looking such a mess. The bonus, of course, is that the view from behind Robyn is heavenly. Her legs are long and bare and Patrick thanks God for the lack of lycra, the material of her shorts pulls across her ass with every step she takes, her t-shirt is knotted at her stomach in front so Patrick is looking at the exposed strip of skin above her waistband at the back, lightly tanned and with a slight sheen of sweat across it – Patrick is looking forward to running his tongue across there, tasting the salt on her skin. Between her shoulder-blades, her t-shirt is stuck to her – even Robyn isn’t impervious to the LA heat – and her pony-tail swings left to right as she runs. Patrick wonders if maybe he could make running with Robyn a regular thing. Plus, when they get back he’s planning on getting her into the shower to clean up, which is always a good idea.

“I know what you’re doing.” Robyn says, not sounding even slightly out of breath. She turns to face him, running backwards slowly and carefully. “And as you’ve run _your_ ass off this morning, I’ll let you look at _mine_ until we’re done.” She winks, then faces forward again, and Patrick speaks without thinking.

“This is why I love you.”

Robyn, always the clumsy one, who should probably need a license to run on the street, trips over her own feet in shock at the words and lands on her hands and knees on the sidewalk, skinning both knees and scraping her palms. She twists onto her ass as Patrick reaches her, hissing at the stinging pain. Patrick drops to his knees next to her, watches blood well up on her knees.

“Shit. Fuck. I’m sorry.” He lifts her hands to check the damage, but they’re ok. “Can you walk?” Robyn nods without speaking and Patrick is grateful for that. She looks dazed, but he isn’t sure whether that’s because of the fall or his stupidity at telling her how he feels with no warning.

They walk the rest of the way back to Robyn's house, blood trickling down both of her shins and soaking into the cuffs of her socks. The sight of this, as little blood as there actually is, dismays Patrick more than he knows is reasonable, but he can’t help it – even without all the rush of emotions he’s been experiencing lately he would have been upset at one of his best friends being hurt, but this is the most important person in his life now and she’s hurt because he couldn’t keep his idiot mouth shut.

In Robyn’s kitchen, after Patrick had taken her keys to unlock the door, he sits her on one of the stools at her breakfast counter and hunts down her first aid kit – they all have one in their kitchen’s, fully-stocked courtesy of Andy because ‘you just never know when you might need this stuff’. Patrick makes a mental note to buy Andy new drumsticks as a thank you – Andy always appreciates a good stash of sticks. Then Patrick kneels at Robyn's feet, pulling out antiseptic wipes and warning her that they’re going to sting.

“It’s just a couple of scrapes, Patrick.” Robyn shakes her head at him as he tears open one of the packets. “You really don’t need to worry abou-oow!” She yelps as Patrick dabs at her left knee, trying to clean the area up.

“Just let me take care of you, ok?” He asks, repeating the process with a fresh wipe on her other knee. When he’s satisfied that the cuts are clean, he sticks band-aids in place – two on each knee – then presses a kiss to each knee, before taking her hands and kissing her reddened palms too. Then he unlaces her sneakers, removing them and her socks, which he balls up to go in the trash.

“Nobody’s looked after me for a while.” Robyn says quietly, wriggling her toes in the cool air of her kitchen. “It’s nice.” Patrick looks up at her, her hand still caught in his. “I love you too, you know. I don’t know if you were kidding or if you meant it, but _I_ mean it.”

“I meant it.” Patrick nods as he speaks. “I didn’t know I meant it at the time, and it definitely could have gone better than this” he gestures at her knees “but yeah, I love you.” He gets back to his feet. “I think it’s customary to kiss you at a time like this. And then we should really get you into the shower and let me look after you a little more. Your legs definitely need some attention.”

“I have wet wipes in the drawer.” Robyn points half-heartedly over her shoulder, knowing full well she’s taking a shower with Patrick, who is dipping towards her mouth as she speaks.

“They won’t do at _all_.” He says before his mouth catches hers.

He pays her a _lot_ of attention in the shower and looks after her extremely well, despite having to clean her up twice.

 

_July 2019 – It’s Hard To Say I Do When I Don’t_

“Daddy!”

Patrick jolts awake at the sound of his son’s voice and waits for a second, propped up on his elbows and listening for any more cries in the dark – sometimes Noah shouts in his sleep but quickly settles down again, and Patrick knows he isn’t needed at times like that. As he is about to put his head back down on his pillow, another, more panicked, shout comes down the hallway and Patrick groans quietly to himself as he sits up and leaves the comfort of his bed. He pointedly does _not_ look at or even think about the other side of the bed, which has been cold and empty for almost three months now.

He doesn’t even make it to his bedroom door before he hears the sound of Noah’s small feet coming along the hallway at speed – clearly, he’s decided not to wait for his Dad to come to him. Patrick opens the door and crouches down, allowing Noah to throw himself into his arms and be hugged tightly to his chest, small arms coming up around Patrick's neck and a cold nose burying itself in his t-shirt. Noah is shaking and Patrick knows it was a bad one. He rubs his son’s back through his Spiderman pyjamas, feeling his trembling subsiding, then stands with Noah still in his arms and carries him back to his room.

They don’t talk about whether Patrick will sleep in Noah’s bed – it’s a given, by now, that when Noah has a nightmare, Patrick sleeps in Noah’s bed for the rest of the night – and Patrick listens to his son’s breathing getting deeper and more even as he falls asleep again. Patrick knows he won’t sleep again tonight – he’s cramped in the small bed and the covers aren’t really enough for two people, especially when one of them is an adult – but loss of sleep is nothing when compared to the loss of everything else.

*****

They’re sitting at the breakfast counter the following morning, Patrick on his second cup of coffee and Noah eating Lucky Charms, when Noah asks the question Patrick has been dreading more than anything else.

“When is Mama coming home?”

Patrick puts down his mug and wonders how he’s going to explain that Robyn _isn’t_ coming home. He looks at the child they created together and thinks, again, about how completely wrong Pete's prediction was – Noah has Robyn's eyes and mouth, the unruly, strawberry-blonde hair that Patrick had as a child and his nose. He’s such a perfect mixture of the two of them that Patrick could cry at how unfair life is – he sees his wife in every expression on their son’s face. As he searches for the right words, his phone buzzes on the counter and he sees Joe's name on the screen.

“One minute, buddy, okay?” he tells Noah, before answering the call. Noah looks unhappy with the interruption but he’s a good kid and Patrick knows he has a few minutes respite from the difficult conversation. “Hey, Joe. What’s up?”

“Oh, so you _do_ remember how to answer your phone.” Joe drawls. “Thought you’d been abducted by aliens. My eldest offspring is demanding the company of your boy-child at the park, and before you try and wriggle your biteable-bottom out of it, I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer. Noah needs to get out of the house and you most _definitely_ need to get out of the house. Besides, we’re already in the car and ten minutes away from you. Vamanos, muchacho!”

In the background, Patrick hears Ruby echoing Joe's final words and then Louis barking in agreement, before the line goes dead. Patrick realises that Joe didn’t give him the chance to make any sort of objection to the plan, and looking at Noah, he’s pretty glad of it.

“You wanna go to the park with Joe and Ruby, buddy?” He asks Noah, who nods slowly. His face wrinkles in concern.

“You coming too, Daddy?” he asks, his brow furrowed with worry. “Don’t wanna go ‘thout you.”

Patrick slips down from his stool and lifts Noah down from his, then he crouches in front of Noah, looking into his face and holding his hands. It’s eerily reminiscent of the time he went running with Robyn almost six years ago, the two of them confessing their love for one another for the first time, and that memory squeezes his heart painfully.

“Of course I’m coming with you.” He tells his son. _I promised I’d look after you, the way I always looked after your Mom._ “Let’s get you dressed, huh?”

*****

“So, how’re you doing?” Joe asks, once the kids are romping around on the grass with Louis. They stopped at the fro-yo shop along the way, Noah and Ruby demolishing theirs in the car in record time, and now Patrick is pushing the remains of his cherry-vanilla around in the bottom of the cup while Joe looks at him over a spoonful of honey-almond. “And don’t bs me, dude.”

“We’re ok, I guess.” Patrick says. “Taking each day as it comes, y’know?”

Joe looks at him for a minute, then sighs.

“You want to try not speaking to me in platitudes?” He says. “That might wash with your therapist, but not with me. We’ve known each other way too long for that. I can see that you’re looking out for _your_ little guy, but that’s what I’m doing with you.”

Patrick laughs in spite of himself.

“You remember I’m older than you, right?” He reminds Joe, who see-saws his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Today Noah asked me when Robyn's coming home.”

“And what did you say to that?”

“You called before I could answer.” Patrick tells him.

“Convenient.” Joe says.

“And true. I have to tackle it though. What _do_ I say to that, Joe? How do I tell him she’s _never_ coming home?”

“Jesus, you can be so dramatic.” Joe says. Much as Patrick bristles at Joe's forthright attitude, he’s glad of it – he needs honest advice and he knows he’ll get that from Joe. “She’s not _dead_. Stop behaving like this is forever, man.”

“But she left!” Patrick objects. Joe taps Patrick on the nose with his spoon.

“Dramatic.” He repeats. “She did _not_ leave. She went on tour, for, like, 3 weeks, and you behaved like a little bitch about it, before she went _and_ when she came back, so she’s having some space.” He holds up a hand to halt Patrick's protests in their tracks. “She has an album to promote. It’s not as if this is a new thing, or even that it’s unfamiliar to you on a personal level. You know the deal – you drop an album, you tour the album, you do the promotional stuff. That’s what she’s doing.”

“But-“ Patrick tries to cut in. Joe taps him with the spoon again.

“You sound like you’re gearing up to telling your son that his Mom is leaving _him_ , dude. That’s not cool. Have you tried turning this on its head?”

“How do you mean?” Patrick is trying his hardest not to sound sulky, but sometimes he reverts to the guy he was when he first met Joe. Luckily, Joe knows how to work with Teenage Patrick as well as he does Adult Patrick.

“Let’s say you put out Soul Punk 2.0 next week and had to put all the effort into supporting it, do you think, for a second, that Robyn would be on unsupportive with that? Or think about _my_ wife, for a second. She doesn’t do what we do, and now we have two kids. Pete's got three – in two separate homes. But we all make it work, because that’s what you do for the people you love. Do you love her?”

“Yes, but-“ another tap of the spoon.

“Do you think she still loves you?” Joe holds his breath after this question. He doesn’t doubt Patrick's feelings for Robyn for a moment – this is a man who loves openly and strongly and doesn’t care who knows it. His love for Robyn burns hotter and brighter each day. Joe doesn’t doubt Robyn's feelings for Patrick either – he knows how badly the separation is affecting her. ‘Broken’ is how she described herself in their last conversation, two days ago. What Joe _does_ know is how doubtful Patrick can be about Robyn's feelings – he still worries that Robyn has ‘settled’ for him, even though he knows deep down that it isn’t true.

“I don’t know.” Patrick answers, with a slight lift of his shoulders. “We haven’t talked, other than Noah-stuff, for weeks now. We’re at that crappy stage where we just do hand-overs and don’t make eye contact.” His shoulders slump and he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and watching Noah playing with Ruby. Joe puts a hand to his shoulder and squeezes. “I don’t understand how it’s fallen apart so fast. We’ve always been able to talk, about everything, but now there’s just nothing.”

“Have you _tried_ to talk to her at all? Because I don’t like playing the blame-game but it’s kind of on you to take that first step, seeing as you did the pushing away.”

“I didn’t-“ Patrick stops himself this time, even as Joe wields the spoon at him. He thinks back to the day Robyn left to go on the road. Noah had spent the night with his grandma, giving his parents a night alone together before Robyn left – she would pick Noah up from Patricia’s on her way, keeping him with her for the first few days then Patrick would fly to New York and bring Noah home. Robyn had hoped for a quiet evening together, with some takeout and a couple of drinks, maybe some sex if neither of them were too tired. What actually happened was Robyn decided to do a quick check that she had everything in her case for the tour bus and Patrick had used it as an excuse to snark at her for ‘leaving them’ again. He had a very clear image in his head of him leaning in the bedroom doorway, arms folded across his chest and his entire body thrumming with what he now recognises as misplaced anger and tension, while Robyn stood with her back to him, sobbing as she stuffed a final few things into her case.

There was no food shared on the sofa, no movie chosen together, and certainly no intimacy – Patrick took a bottle of Jack Daniels to his studio and drunkenly took out his frustrations on his drums for three hours. There was a clear divide between them in the bed that night, Robyn already asleep when Patrick finally stumbled into the room at past 3.30. Robyn left before Patrick woke up the next morning with the mother of all hangovers slamming through his body. When he collected Noah four days later conversation was stilted and they barely exchanged any kind of affection, Patrick holding Noah’s case in one hand and Noah’s hand in the other – Robyn reached out to touch him, her mouth opening to say something before he left, but Patrick turned away and led Noah out of the hotel.

Now he winced at the memory. Robyn had stayed at their Chicago home in between city trips in recent weeks, only coming back to LA either for work or for handovers of Noah, and Patrick had been wallowing in self-pity and bitterness, martyring himself as the one left behind, the one walked out on, preparing himself – as Joe had guessed – to explain to Noah that this was how it was now. But he’d also been avoiding the truth – that Robyn wasn’t coming home because he wasn’t making it possible for her to come home. He hadn’t apologised for his behaviour, or even explained himself to her – as far as she was concerned, he was still pissed at her.

“Have you talked to her?” He asks Joe, who looks at him as if he’s crazy. “Stupid question. She’s not mad at you.”

“She’s not mad at you either.” Joe explains. “Why do you assume everyone’s angry? We’re not all raging redheads – that’s just you. Thought you had a handle on that these days, man. She’s hurt and scared and she doesn’t know what to do. And you didn’t go to a single one of her shows. I went to three, Pete went to five, even Andy went to two and her music is _not_ his shit. Has she ever told you how many of your solo shows she went to? And you guys weren’t even a thing then. You should ask her about that some time.”

“Pete has to go – she’s signed to his label.” Patrick responds petulantly, pointedly ignoring the remarks about his solo tour.

“So frogging what?” Joe is exasperated, but not enough to slip out of his alternative curse-word system that he uses in his daughter’s presence. “That doesn’t explain me and Hurley being there. She’s _married_ to you – if anything _you_ have to go. Do you know what that did to her, you not being there? I ask you again – do you _love_ her?”

“Yes!” Patrick shouts. Noah skids to a standstill on the grass and looks over at Patrick, the same crease in his forehead that Patrick gets when he’s worried. “It’s ok, bud. Uncle Joe just asked me if I liked my yogurt.” Noah watches for a moment more and Patrick plasters his biggest, fakest smile onto his face – he’s had years of practice at this being in the public eye. Noah seems satisfied that all is well and goes back to playing.

“Then you show up.” Joe tells him, as if the interruption never happened. “Do you know where she is tonight?”. Patrick shakes his head, feeling guilty – he has no idea what Robyn's schedule is at the moment, apart from the days they do handovers. “She’s in San Francisco. She’s 90 minutes away, doing a small show for radio. You could hop a flight and be there. You _should_ hop a flight and be there.”

Patrick hops a flight to San Francisco.

*****

Robyn sits on a stool, with her guitarist to her left, and sings. As much as she loves performing, it never stops being weird to look around her and see not-her-band. Steve, her guitarist for this album cycle, is a great guy and they work well together, but he’s not Joe and she can’t knock on his hotel room door at 2am, knowing she can play Street Fighter with him if she can’t sleep. Neil, the bassist, is extremely competent but he doesn’t know the dialogue to Terminator II like Pete and she doesn’t think he’d be happy if she took off with his hoodie when she’s cold. Harry plays drums like a bitch – Andy actually recommended him, friend of a friend looking for work – but he’s laconic and keeps to himself. There isn’t a Patrick in this setup, because when she flies solo she _is_ the Patrick, and she would hate the thought of trying to compare anyone to him anyway – that way madness lies.

She doesn’t know if this is the band that will be with her when she goes out of the country in a couple of months – the label put all that stuff together for her and she doesn’t much care who they pick as long as they’re sober and well-behaved. She’s not looking to make friends – solo touring is great but the key word is _solo_. She has her best friends in her actual band and feels like she’d be somehow betraying them if she got permanent supporting members. Joe has told her – repeatedly – that she’s worrying over nothing and cited The Damned Things and Black Cards as prime examples of how you can be in a band with other people without being unfaithful to your ‘spouse-band’, as he calls Fall Out Boy. He knows, without her saying it, that it’s mostly tied up in her feelings for Patrick.

And there she is, thinking about her husband again. Who is she kidding – she’s _always_ thinking about her husband. _Worrying_ about her husband would be more accurate these days. She hasn’t seen or spoken to Patrick in almost two weeks – Pete was travelling back to LA last week and took Noah with him to go home to Patrick. Noah had no issues about travelling with his Uncle Pete, who seemingly has no boundaries and is pretty much a big kid himself. (Uncle Pete who is walking a very fine line at the moment as he goes back and forth between his best friend and the girl he sees as his little sister, watching them tearing themselves apart over their stubborn refusal to be the first one to make a move to save their marriage).

Her mind drifts back to touring Mania and the first night of Patrick performing Young and Menace on the piano. He’d worked it out and rehearsed it on his own in the weeks running up to the first shows and only Pete – who had suggested it – had been allowed to hear it. Robyn supposed, at the time, that she could have been hurt by that, but she knew that it was nothing personal against her, and Patrick's creative relationship with Pete was a rare and unique beast that sometimes needed to be whittled down to the two of them alone in order for it to work. She also knew that Patrick was painfully worried that Pete's idea of a stripped-back version of the song might not work. When she left the stage that first night, the lights picking Patrick out as he sat at the piano, Robyn wrapped her arms around herself at the side of the stage and clutched her sleeves in her fists, almost as nervous at hearing it as Patrick was at performing it. Pete hugged her from behind and rested his chin on her shoulder as Patrick began to sing, 20,000 people singing with him, and Robyn began to cry, aching with a fierce pride. Pete laughed down her ear.

“I know, right?” He murmured.

“You’re a fucking genius and I hate you.” Robyn told him without taking her eyes from Patrick. “This is Save Rock and Roll all over again.” She was known to cry during every performance of that song too, even five years after they first started playing it, and Pete sometimes liked to play the opening bars of it on his phone and try and catch her unawares, usually reducing her to tears pretty quickly. Now she knew she’d be crying _twice_ at each show, but at least she would be off-stage for Young and Menace. She rested her cheek against Pete's head as Patrick finished up and the lights went down, then almost sprinted across the stage in the dark to reach Patrick so she could throw her arms around him and whisper how much she loved him. Patrick, surprised at the outburst of emotion and feeling her tears against his cheek, held her close and returned the sentiment. Then the lights were coming back up and they were into the next song before he had a chance to ask her why she was crying.

Robyn feels tears stinging her eyes again as she finishes up her set and is thankful that the radio interview and Q&A with audience members was done beforehand, because now she can say her thank-yous and wave her goodbyes and leave the stage and go somewhere private to quietly fall apart. Again.

She’s back at her hotel in less than 20 minutes, from the back-door of the small theatre to her room, kicking her boots off and across the room and enjoying the thud of them against the wall. She cries as she undresses down to just her t-shirt and underwear, planning on crying in the shower, then climbing into bed, pulling the covers over her head and crying some more into the pillow. Someone having the nerve to knock on the door while she’s mid-breakdown? Well, that’s just fucking _rude_. She doesn’t care that she’s mostly undressed, doesn’t care that her face is probably blotchy or that she’s most likely streaked mascara down her cheeks – someone is going to get themselves ripped a new one. She yanks open the door.

And comes apart completely at the sight of Patrick in front of her.

It’s six years to the very day since she texted him while he was in a meeting and they ended up having sex later that afternoon. Six years of falling in love, moving in together, getting married, having a child together. Now, here he is again at her door, but things couldn’t be more different. Once again, the sight of Patrick renders Robyn speechless and strips away all of her anger. He’s in worn black jeans, his old, faded, and stretched-out John Coltrane t-shirt and a grey cardigan, hatless and wearing his glasses – he looks incredibly un-rock star and Robyn's love for him is like an exploding bomb within her. They speak at the same time.

“You cut your hair!”

“You grew a beard!”

Then he registers the tears drying on her cheeks and his face immediately clouds with concern.

“You’re crying.” He states the obvious. “Who made you cry?”

“You!” Robyn tells him, not quite believing that he doesn’t know this already, then she looks past him into the hallway. “Is Noah with you? I thought I was having him tomorrow.” Because that’s the only reason he’d be here – to drop off their son. But Patrick shakes his head.

“No.” His voice is hoarse. “He’s at Pete’s, having a sleepover with Saint. I had to see you.”

“Oh God.” Robyn can feel her legs shaking. She knows why he’s here now and she holds out a hand. “You didn’t have to do this yourself. They have people who can serve the papers for you. This is just cruel.”

“Papers?” Patrick shakes his head again, confused. “I don’t…what papers?”

“Divorce papers.” Robyn cries harder at having to say the words. “Just give them to me and go.”

She’s never seen such a shocked look on Patrick's face before, not even at the first sonogram when he’d heard Noah’s heartbeat and the OBGYN had traced out Noah’s facial features on the screen in front of them, or after the birth when Patrick was handed his newborn son and the nurse made him sit down before his legs gave way. Patrick's face goes paler than Robyn thought possible – in actual fact he goes slightly green and looks like he may throw up.

“You think I want a divorce?” He asks.

“I don’t know. Do you?” Robyn doesn’t want to hear the answer but knows she has to.

“God, no.” Patrick pushes his hand through his hair, making it stand up in all different directions. Under any other circumstances this would be comical but neither of them is in the mood for laughing right now. “Can we talk about this inside, rather than in the hallway for the whole world to hear?”

Robyn steps back and Patrick comes into the room, closing the door behind him.

“Drink?” Robyn asks, painfully aware of the similarities to their first time together at her house.

“No, thanks.” Patrick sits on the edge of the bed. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Robyn sits next to him, but keeps a distance between them – she aches to touch him but that _also_ isn’t a good idea. Further parallels with their first time together – her not being allowed to touch him – but today everything is just heart-breaking. Neither of them speak and the silence hangs heavy over them. Robyn picks at the cover on the bed and Patrick slides his hand across and hooks his little finger around hers. It’s a tiny step, but it means _everything_ , and Robyn looks up at her husband and watches as he removes his glasses with his other hand and wipes away tears.

“I’m so…I’m so fucking _sorry._ ” His voice breaks on the last word. “I love you so much and I just want you to come home. Nothing else is important. I should have supported you and I didn’t, but I will, I promise. Noah and me, we’ll travel with you and-“

“He’ll be in school.” Robyn points out, carefully. “I go to Japan in October, and Europe in November, and Noah will be in school.”

The silence falls again, but they continue to hold on to one another in the tiniest way.

“You think I’m a bad Mom.” Robyn says. Patrick, who has been looking at their fingers curled together between them, looks up at her again, his eyes wide with disbelief. Robyn continues before he can confirm what she’s already guessed. “You thought when we had Noah that I wouldn’t do solo stuff again. I know you’ve never said it, but I know that’s what this has all been about. You think I’m leaving him behind. Do you ever say that to Pete or Joe when we go on the road together? We bring Noah with us, but their kids mostly stay at home. Do you think they’re terrible Dad’s for going on tour?”

“I think you’re an amazing Mom.” Patrick corrects her. Robyn blinks in surprise. “I hadn’t even thought about you “leaving” Noah. I know I said it, and God knows I wish I could take it back, but it was just spite and childishness. He’s with me, and he sees you plenty, and he knows you’re working. You know me, Robyn, better than anyone else in the fucking world does. So, you know I don’t buy into that bullshit. This has been about you leaving _me_ behind. I’m the child here, not Noah. We haven’t been apart like that since we got married, and I got complacent, I guess. Pete told me I’m Fleetwood Mac-ing the band.” He laughs slightly, lifts Robyn's hand and kisses her fingers, threading his own between them. “Whatever it takes, I’ll do it, I swear. Just please come back to me.”

Robyn untangles their fingers and stands up with a sigh and – just like that – Patrick knows it’s over.

“I need to shower.” Robyn tells him, and heads into the bathroom. Patrick remains where he is. He feels numb inside. His marriage just ended. He should leave now – he has no place in this room. This is just Robyn's hotel room now and he doesn’t belong here anymore. Then Robyn looks around the door at him. “Are you coming in?” She asks, smiling shyly at him. And – also just like that – Patrick is forgiven.

He moves on autopilot, crossing the room to his wife and pulling her to him. He presses his face into her hair and breathes her in, his eyes closing as her arms come up and around him. He holds her tightly, as if he’s never going to let her go, and doesn’t realise he’s crying with relief until he hears Robyn soothing him and feels her stroking his hair. He pulls back a little, wipes his face on the sleeve of his cardigan, then uses his other sleeve to wipe away _her_ tears – Robyn hears Young and Menace playing on a piano in the back of her mind.

“You should take this off.” Robyn tugs at his cardigan. “It’s all wet. You could catch cold.”

Patrick complies, laughing, and slings the cardigan across the bed. His glasses get tucked into the front pocket of his jeans, which then end up in a crumpled heap on top of his sneakers. Then Robyn is leading him by the hand into the bathroom, which is already steaming up from the running shower. Patrick frowns at the shower and shakes his head. They have shower sex a lot – especially when on tour because sometimes it’s the only time they actually _get_ to have sex – but right now it isn’t what he wants.

Robyn watches, confused, as Patrick shuts off the shower. When he starts filling the cast-iron, free-standing tub instead, with a pointed look her way, she smiles. This? This they don’t do very often at all. Patrick dumps in a full miniature bottle of the complimentary bubble bath and the air fills with the scent of white orchid.

As the tub fills and the room warms up, Patrick presses Robyn against the wall and kisses her, gently and carefully, his hands roaming everywhere he can reach, remembering every inch of her skin. Robyn kisses back hungrily, unable to get over the thrill of his mouth once more possessing hers – even after this long it never gets old and her stomach still does a long, slow tumble every time he kisses her this way. She grabs the hem of his t-shirt, tugging it up and off him, then pushes his shorts down and tries to go to her knees in front of him. Patrick laughs – _laughs!_ – and catches her elbows, keeping her from her prize, then pulls her back to her feet.

“Slow down!” He tells her, his hands slipping underneath her t-shirt once more, his fingers stroking across her ribs, her stomach, her hips. “God, I’ve _missed_ you.” This is whispered into her neck between kisses. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again.” They both know this can’t possibly be true, but the sentiment is what counts. Patrick rubs his nose behind her ear, nips her earlobe, marks her shoulder with his teeth, claiming her body once more. Then he’s stripping off her t-shirt and underwear and they’re in the tub, Robyn's mind a whirl of emotion and sensation as she settles between his legs and leans back into his chest, her head on his shoulder.

At first, he just rubs her shoulders, easing away tension she didn’t know she had, uses his thumbs to work out the little knots in her neck and feels her loosening up under his hands. Robyn sighs and rubs the palms of her hands down the outsides of his thighs, kneading softly at the muscles in them. When she’s relaxed almost to the point of bonelessness, her eyes unfocused and heavy-lidded, Patrick brings her back to him by rubbing his beard-covered chin across her shoulder. Robyn yelps with surprise, laughing and squirming in his arms. Patrick grins and bites her neck softly.

“Beard much?” Robyn says. “It’s July, my dude. What _is_ this?”

“This is ‘between-albums, off-duty, stay-at-home-Dad beard’.” Patrick tells her. “I don’t have to keep up appearances right now – I have this awesome wife who’s going out and earning money to buy me pretty things.” Robyn snorts laughter.

“Summer beard, then. The fans are going to lose their shit over this.” She says.  “Remind me to pick you up some earrings at the weekend. I’ll make sure to get you something that brings out your eyes.”

Patrick uses his beard on the damp skin of her shoulders again, making her squeal with laughter and sloshing water over the sides of the tub. Tickles and giggling slips into kisses and sighs, as Patrick stops teasing – in one sense, at least – and focuses on satisfying his wife. She’s had long hair for such a long time that it’s strange to have the back of her neck so exposed with her new blunt-cut bob but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t sexy as hell. Robyn shudders out a breath as Patrick's lips move across the top of her spine at the same time that his hands slide up her torso in front, hot, wet and slippery from the water, to cup her breasts and play with her already hard and aching nipples. She arches up into his palms and feels his cock, solid and hot pressing into the small of her back. One of his hands skims back down across her stomach and into the water, between her thighs, his fingers stroking her in the way that only he knows how.

She moans and pushes against his hands, her body yearning for more of it, and Patrick whispers filth into her ear, his voice low and rough around the edges, revealing just how aroused he is, as if the physical evidence throbbing at her back wasn’t clue enough.

“Fuck, Robyn, I love how you sound when I have you like this.” Patrick murmurs, watching over her shoulder as he works her ever upwards. She puts her hand over his, her palm pressed to the back of his, and Patrick almost loses it at the sight of both of their hands between her legs. His teeth scrape her shoulder again, before leaving yet another mark of possession there, and his fingers rub in just the right spot, with just the right amount of pressure, at just the right angle. Robyn gasps his name, then twists her head to catch his mouth with hers as she rides out her orgasm, moaning around his tongue.

When she collapses back against his chest she notices that the water level has gone down and lifts her head to peek over the side of the tub in dismay.

“Oh shit.” She whispers, looking at Patrick in alarm. “That’s a lot of water.” Patrick just smiles and shrugs.

“I’ll pay for any damages.” He says, pulling her back into his arms. “Totally fucking worth it to watch you like that, I swear to God.”

He is painfully aware that he’s aching for his own release and knows Robyn would never leave him unfulfilled, but the water is warm, the bubbles smell good and he just wants to hold onto his wife more than anything else right then. Robyn is content with the situation for a while but she is _also_ painfully aware of Patrick pressing into her and she sits up, turning to face him on her knees.

The water reaches her waist as she sits back on her heels and takes hold of his cock, and Patrick stares at her, wanting to memorise how she looks while she’s making him feel this way. Her hair hasn’t only been cut, she’s coloured it too, from blonde to black, and had bangs cut in at the front, which he hasn’t seen her with since way before hiatus.

“You look like Cleopatra!” He gasps out. Robyn is clearly amused by the statement, but doesn’t break the rhythm she has going with her hand. “Holy _God_ , stop!” Robyn is so thrown by the order that she _does_ stop, looking at Patrick in surprise. Patrick also gets to his knees, sloshing more water over the sides of the tub – Robyn doesn’t even notice anymore, mesmerised by Patrick, totally naked, wet and bearded, with that dark urge in his eyes and his cock curving up in front of him, lust-flushed dark, thick and proud. His arms wrap around her waist and he slides her, on her knees, across the bottom of the tub – yet more water splashes – and collides her into his chest to kiss her again, biting softly at her bottom lip. “I need you.” He tells her quietly. Robyn nods and climbs out of the tub. Patrick follows, pulling the plug with one hand as he grabs a towel with the other.

They’re still damp minutes later when they stumble into the bedroom, having done the bare minimum of drying off before their mouths are crashing together and Patrick is walking Robyn backwards towards the bed. The bathroom floor is awash with water and Patrick half-heartedly threw down every towel in the room to try and soak up the worst of it, but he really is past caring about something so irrelevant when he’s been without Robyn for so long.

Patrick sits on the edge of the bed, pulling Robyn, still on her feet, between his knees and pressing kisses onto her ribs, the soft, warm and slightly damp skin of her stomach, the undersides of her breasts. His hands slide behind her, stroking and squeezing her ass. Then Robyn straddles him and Patrick grips his cock, holding it steady for her to ease down on to. She holds his shoulders as she slides right down, the backs of her thighs flush against the front of his, every inch of him inside her, and he turns his face up to hers. Robyn smiles, hesitating before either of them moves, both of them savouring the feeling of completeness. She lifts her hands from his shoulders and places her palms either side of his face, rubbing them against the soft prickle of his beard.

“This is gorgeous and I love you.” She tells him quietly. Patrick nods, his eyes full of her as he begins to rock up and into her. They go slowly and carefully at first, their ragged breathing and soft moans the only sound in the room, in the world. Robyn dips her head for more of Patrick's mouth, marvelling at the feel of his beard against her lips and hoping he keeps it, at least for a little while. Robyn shifts her hands back to his shoulders, needing to hold tightly to him as her body tenses towards another orgasm, and Patrick keeps her steady, his arms wrapping around her waist as his thrusts become harder and faster. When her head tips back and his name spills from her mouth in a glorious gasp, over and over, Patrick kisses her neck, his lips hot against her throat.

He waits, patiently, while her breathing evens out, then flips her up and off him, onto her back. Robyn lets out a small, surprised laugh. Patrick smiles at her.

“I’m almost there, beautiful.” He tells her, sliding inside her once more, groaning immediately at how hot and slick she feels, even more so now she’s come. “God, I’m close. And you feel fucking amazing. Jesus, _this_ is home, Robyn. Right here inside of you.”

“Patrick.” Robyn breathes his name, lifts her legs to wrap them around his hips and links her hands to his either side of her head. “Baby, come for me.”

And he does, at those words – let’s himself go and falls apart with her hands in his, before collapsing on top of her and whispering how much he loves her into her ear.

Once they’ve actually showered – which actually _was_ a necessity after the sex – Robyn grabs Patrick's John Coltrane t-shirt from his pile of discarded clothes and puts it on with fresh underwear. Patrick laughs at the predictable clothes-stealing – some things never change – and opens his overnight bag to find clean shorts and another t-shirt. When he turns to show Robyn the slogan across the front of the clothing – Robyn's name in purple font – she grins.

“Are you wearing my merch?” She asks. Patrick crawls up the bed to lie next to her, his grin rivalling hers. “Where did you even get that? That’s not this tour.”

“Pete hooked me up. I wanted something a little older, to show how long I’ve been a fan.” He pulls Robyn into his arms, kisses her. “I’m a diehard, you know. Been there since the beginning.”

“Well, my heart beats for the diehards.” Robyn paraphrases Pete's lyrics. “One diehard in particular, really.”

“I swear to God, if you say Chris Hemsworth…” Patrick threatens. “I know he was at one of your shows.” Robyn laughs. “I need to call Noah.” He thinks for a second. “ _We_ need to call Noah.”

Noah is delighted to hear from both of his parents at once and tells them excitedly about playing in the pool with Saint and Uncle Pete, watching Piglet’s Big Movie, and how they’re getting pizza for dinner. At this point, Pete speaks in the background, reminding Noah to say something specific, and Noah giggles and shouts ‘pizza rules!’ before handing the phone to Pete for a moment.

“Did I hear the littlest of the Stumps correctly?” Pete asks. “Are you guys in the same room right now and talking?”

“Yeah.” Patrick looks at Robyn as he speaks, a slow smile spreading across his face. “You heard right. We’re good, Pete.”

“Yes!” Pete practically screeches the word. Patrick winces, glad he has Pete on speakerphone with the phone lying on the pillow between him and Robyn. “Finally, you guys. I thought this story was heading for an unhappy ending there. I considered bailing out before this chapter. I don’t do angst these days. I got that out of my system in my twenties.”

“You’re such an asshole.” Robyn tells him. She takes him off speakerphone and they talk about work for a few minutes, while Patrick gets drinks from the minibar and peruses the room service menu. Then Noah is asking to speak to Robyn again.

“What’s up, baby boy?” She asks him.

“When are you coming home, Mama?” Noah has a worried tone to his voice. Robyn's heart hurts at the sound of it. “Daddy’s sad without you.”

Robyn looks over at Patrick as he opens cans of lemonade. Her heart hurts even more.

“Tomorrow.” She tells her son. Patrick places her drink on the unit next to the bed, settles back down beside her again. “I’m coming home tomorrow. With Daddy.”

“To get me? Are we going to ‘Cago?” Still that tremor of anxiety.

“No, baby, we’re staying at home. You, me and Daddy. Together.” She waits for the words to sink in at the other end, even as she’s watching them sink in at this end, Patrick's face lighting up. She imagines a very similar expression is on Noah’s face some 400 miles away.

“You and me and Daddy.” Noah repeats carefully. “Tomorrow.” He pauses. “That’s good, Mama. You’re a good Mommy.” He says the last sentence in a very adult way, making Robyn laugh. “See you tomorrow, Mama!” And he’s gone, the disconnect call button being pressed. Robyn looks at the phone then up at her husband.

“You and me and Noah.” Patrick says softly, leaning towards Robyn for another kiss. “Forever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, you can find me on Tumblr @secretstudentdragonblog - you can come and send asks or message me if you want to chat about this story or fangirl over Fall Out Boy with me!


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